University  of  California. 


G-It'T  OF 


>ii» 


THE 


EARLY  CONFLICTS  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


BY  THE 


REV.  WM.  INGRAHAM  KIP,  D.D. 

AUTHOR   OF  "the    CHRISTMAS    HOLVDAYS   IN   ROME,"   "THE    DOUBLE    WITNESS    OF 

THE    CHURCH,"  "the    LENTEN    FAST,"  "THE    EARLY   JESUIT    MISSIONS 

IN    NORTH   AMERICA,"  ETC.   ETC.   ETC. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON   &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

GEO.  S.  APPLETON,  164  CHESNUT-ST. 

LONDON:— LONGMAN,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

MDCCCL. 


ti^ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849, 

By  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


TO 

THE    RIGHT    REVEREND 

GEORGE    BURGESS,    D.  D. 

BISHOP     OF     MAINE, 
HIS    BROTHER 

Xti»crfiie»   tjjfs   TJolume, 

IN   TOKEN   OF 

AFFECTIONATE    REGARD. 


Digitizedby  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/earlyconflictsofOOkipwrich 


PREFACE. 


We  believe  that  few  among  tliose  who  profess 
and  call  themselves  Christians  have  a  clear  idea 
of  the  difficulties  to  which  our  faith  was  sub- 
jected in  the  earliest  ages  of  its  existence,  or  the 
severity  of  the  conflict  through  which  it  was 
obliged  to  pass.  And  yet  it  was  a  contest  sancti- 
fied to  us  by  deeds  of  heroic  daring  such  as  else- 
where the  world  has  never  seen.  It  was  no 
sudden  outbreak,  exhausting  itself  in  one  burst 
of  enthusiasm,  but  a  power  of  endurance  exhibit- 
ed through  long  centuries,  until  at  last  the  vic- 
tory was  won,  and  the  despised  faith  was  throned 
in  the  high  places  of  the  earth.  It  was  a  war- 
fare, too,  not  against  one  form  of  evil  alone,  but 
against  all  that  the  world  could  summon  to  its 
aid,  in  the  pride  of  intellect  or  the  opposition  of 
a  perverted  nature. 


6  PEEFACE. 


It  is  tlius,  that,  throwing  ourselves  back  into 
tliat  age,  we  have  endeavored  to  display  the 
faith,  tracing  as  clearly  as  possible  its  successive 
triumphs  over  every  enemy.  There  is  nothing 
new  in  the  following  pages — no  attempt  at  origi- 
nality of  view — for  every  thing  which  is  brought 
forward  on  these  subjects  must  necessarily  be 
gleaned  from  the  writings  of  those  who  have 
gone  before  us.  It  is  on  the  manner  only  in 
which  these  truths  are  presented,  that  we  must 
rest  our  claim  to  attention.  History  is  generally 
too  much  broken  up  into  distinct  periods,  and 
the  natural  course  of  events  interrupted,  to  mark 
the  end  of  particular  centuries.  Of  this,  Mo- 
sheim's  Ecclesiastical  History  is  the  most  glaring 
example.  The  consequence  often  is  a  confusion 
in  the  mind  of  an  ordinary  reader,  as  turning 
from  one  subject  to  another,  he  is  obliged  to  re- 
sume the  thread  of  the  narrative  where  some 
time  ago  it  was  abandoned.  It  is  this  we  have 
endeavored  to  avoid,  tracing — as  far  as  is  neces- 
sary for  the  general  reader — through  successive 
centuries,  the  gradual  waning  of  a  particular 
form  of  opposition,  until  its  power  was  broken, 


PEEFACE.  7 

and  it  ceased  to  be  numbered  among  tlie  for- 
midable enemies  of  the  faitli. 

This  narrative  leaves  the  Church  indeed  in  the 
hour  of  its  triumph,  yet  still  when  clouds  were 
beginning  to  darken  the  horizon,  and  the  faith 
was  declining  from  its  early  purity.  But  this  is 
only  the  first  chapter  in  its  history.  There  are 
two  more  which  should  be  wiitten  to  complete 
the  view.  The  second  comprises  the  period  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  when  a  feudal  tyranny  over- 
spread Europe,  and  nothing  but  the  influence  of 
the  Church — though  she  was  forced  to  prophesy 
in  sackcloth — prevented  the  elements  of  society 
from  rushing  into  ruinous  conflict.  The  third 
embraces  the  narrative  of  that  awakening  of  in- 
tellect which  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  Refor- 
mation— a  fearful  convulsion,  when  the  human 
mind  on  the  Continent,  throwing  off  its  ancient 
chains,  ran  wild  in  the  enjoyment  of  its  liberty, 
emancipating  itself  indeed  from  the  fetters  of 
superstition,  yet  deserting  every  old  landmark, 
and  in  the  course  of  three  centuries  passing  into 
the  coldness  of  neology  or  the  utter  dreariness 
of  infidelity.  We  are  left  to  look  to  England 
> 


8  PREFACE. 

alone  for  tlie  picture  of  a  true  Catholic  Churcli, 
freed  from  Romisli  errors,  yet  retaining  all  that 
is  taught  by  Scripture  and  primitive  antiquity. 

Whether  the  present  writer — even  if  life  and 
health  are  spared — shall  be  enabled  to  complete 
the  task  thus  marked  out,  is  doubtful.  It  de- 
pends somewhat  upon  the  reception  with  which 
this  volume  shall  meet  from  those  for  whom  it 
is  intended ;  and  also,  whether  as  the  shadows 
lengthen  in  his  path  of  life,  and  the  claims  upon 
his  time  are  each  year  increasing,  he  will  be  able 
to  turn  aside  from  his  professional  duties  long 
enough  to  make  those  investigations  which  the 
importance  of  these  subjects  demands. 

Albany,  Dec.y  1849. 


CONTENTS 


PASK 

I-^UDAISM 13 


II.— GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY 81 

III.— THE  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE  .  .  .153 
IV.— BARBARISM 186 

v.— THE  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY 226 


THE 


EARLY  CONFLICTS  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


41' 


JUDAISM. 


Our  Lord  "came  not  to  send  peace  but  a  sword  on  the 
earth."  The  notes  which  angels  sang  at  His  birth,  pro- 
claiming as  the  effect  of  His  advent,  "  on  earth  peace,  good- 
will toward  men,"  seemed  to  die  away  over  the  hills  of  Judea, 
and  the  lesson  which  they  taught  to  be  utterly  forgotten.  The 
New  Dispensation  was  welcomed  only  by  the  shout  of  scorn  or 
the  defiance  of  open  hostility.  Its  earliest  Herald  ended  His 
short  and  troubled  life  upon  the  Cross.  And  how  fared  it  then 
with  the  infant  church — the  httle  flock  from  which  the  Shep- 
herd was  thus  torn  away?  It  found  itself  in  an  arena  of 
deadly  strife.  To  whichever  side  it  turned,  it  was  met  by 
bitter  opposition.  Its  situation  may  aptly  be  compared  to 
that  of  one  of  its  followers,  as  he  stood  for  martyrdom  in  a 
Pagan  amphitheatre.  Around  him  were  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  forest  ravening  for  his  blood,  and  above  him,  circle  on 
circle,  were  foes  more  fierce  than  they,  who  had  doomed  him 
to  a  cruel  death.  "  He  saw  that  there  was  no  man,  and  won- 
dered that  there  was  no  intercessor."  Thus  it  was  that  Chris- 
tianity stood  amid  the  dominant  systems  of  this  world.  » 
«K                                        2 


14  '  JUDAISM. 


But  not  like  the  early  martyr  did  it  sink  and  die  before  its 
foes.  Its  path  indeed  was  marked  with  blood — the  noblest  of 
its  champions  offered  up  their  lives  upon  its  altar — but  it 
survived.  It  came  forth  from  the  conflict  leaving  its  enemies 
stricken  and  prostrate.  It  was  "  persecuted,  but  not  forsaken : 
cast  down,  but  not  destroyed."  Realizing  the  classic  fable  of 
Antaeus,  who  when  stricken  to  the  earth  derived  new  vigor 
from  the  touch  of  the  mighty  Mother,  so  the  Church  sprang 
up  from  every  struggle  with  fresh  strength  for  the  next,  and 
triumphed  in  every  contest.  The  Ark  of  Truth  floated  unin- 
jured down  the  stream  of  time  amid  the  wrecks  of  the  religions 
it  had  crushed. 

We  look  back  to  this  as  a  history  of  the  Church's  glory. 
We  rejoice  as  we  see  her  thus  confronting  every  enemy  and 
yielding  to  none.  We  feel  that  the  martyr's  undying  courage 
is  a  part  of  our  heritage,  and  that  the  glory  he  won  in  his 
spiritual  conflicts  is  the  common  property  of  a  brotherhood 
to  which  we  also  belong.  But  how  seldom  do  we  realize  the 
severity  of  that  contest  through  which  the  faith  was  obliged 
to  pass !  We  meet  with  traces  of  it  in  the  Word  of  God,  as 
it  relates  the  trials  which  gathered  about  the  Apostles,  when 
persecuted  in  one  city  they  were  obhged  to  flee  to  another,  and 
found  that  the  faith  was  "  everywhere  spoken  against."  But 
to  comprehend  it  fully  we  must  take  a  wider  view  of  the  state 
of  the  world,  and  the  condition  of  those  systems  against  which 
Christianity  was  obliged  to  array  itself.  We  must  throw  our- 
selves completely  back  into  the  age  when  our  Lord  and  his 


JUDAISM.  15 


Apostles  went  forth  as  teachers  of  this  new  religion  through 
the  villages  of  Galilee ;  we  must  try  to  sympathize  with  the 
Jew  in  those  habits  and  feehngs  which  formed  the  national 
character  of  the  people ;  we  must  understand  the  tone  of  pub- 
lic sentiment  while  they  were  crushed  by  the  Roman  power, 
^nd  the  influence  of  those  stirring  events  which  quickened  every 
pulse  from  Idumea  to  Lebanon,  till  all  at  last  were  maddened 
to  desperation  ;  we  must  appreciate  the  hold  which  rites  com- 
ing down  from  a  dim  and  distant  antiquity  had  upon  those  who 
were  trained  to  regard  them  as  sacred  and  unchangeable.  And 
the  same  course  must  be  pursued,  not  only  with  the  people  of 
that  Holy  Land  which  our  Lord  "  environed  with  his  blessed 
feet,"  but  with  those  of  every  other  country  in  which  we  trace 
the  progress  of  the  faith.  Thus  we  shall  be  able  to  identify 
ourselves  with  the  past — to  understand  the  nature  of  that  war- 
fare through  which  Christianity  passed,  as  it  slowly  developed 
itself  into  strength,  and  won  its  way  among  the  adverse  ele- 
ments it  encountered,  not  only  in  Judea,  but  throughout  the 
earth. 

This  is  the  task  we  purpose  to  attempt.  We  would  gather 
from  the  pages  of  ecclesiastical  history  the  allusions  to  that 
mighty  conflict  of  opinions  which  then  stirred  society  to  its 
very  depths,  to  portray,  as  fully  as  our  limits  will  allow,  the 
contest  our  faith  waged  with  Judaism — with  the  philosophy  of 
Greece — the  licentiousness  of  Corinth — the  degrading  errors 
of  barbarism — and  that  beautiful  classical  mythology  which 
was  nowhere  so  powerful  as  under  the  protection  of  the  domi- 


16  JUDAISM. 


nant  hierarcliy  of  Pagan  Rome.  With  all  these  antagonists  in 
succession  St.  Paul  found  himself  in  conflict.  Against  all  these 
errors  he  was  forced  to  contend.  We  have  therefore  only  to 
trace  him  in  his  progress,  and  the  changing  scenes  of  his  min- 
istry will  bring  before  us  the  varied  battle-fields  on  which  our 
faith  was  called  to  struggle,  not  only  for  power,  but  even  for 
existence. 

St.  Paul  began  his  labors — as  our  Lord  directed  all  his  dis- 
ciples— among  "  his  brethren,  his  l^nsmen  after  the  flesh,  who 
were  Israehtes."  To  adopt  the  language  of  the  sacred  histo- 
rian, "he  preached  Christ  in  the  synagogues.'*  This,  then, 
presents  us  with  a  view  of  Christianity  in  conflict  with 
Judaism. 

We  know  that  everywhere  the  Jew.  arrayed  himself  against 
the  faith  with  the  most  relentless  hostihty,  and  that  thus  the 
worst  foes  the  Apostles  met,  were  "  they  of  their  own  house- 
hold." And  we  can  easily  discern  those  peculiar  features  of 
Judaism  which  so  enlisted  all  the  feelings  and  prejudices  of  its 
worshippers,  and  rendered  them  deaf  to  every  argument  which 
might  attack  its  permanency.  One  of  these  was  the  exclusive 
nature  of  its  rites.  The  Jews  felt  that  they  occupied  a  peculiar 
position  in  the  world — that  God  had  selected  them  to  be  the 
special  guardians  of  his  tnith — and  that  whenever  they  wan- 
dered from  it,  retribution  followed  in  their  steps. .  The  Unity 
of  the  Godhead  was  the  great  doctrine  they  were  called  to 
support,  and  this  they  were  to  maintain  single-handed  against 
all  the  world.     Everywhere  else,  this  cardinal  truth,  if  not 


JTJDAISM.  17 


utterly  extinct,  was  but  dimly  recognised  as  "  the  recondite 
treasure  of  a  high  and  learned  class,"  or  a  conclusion  held  with 
no  steady  grasp  by  the  philosophical  few  who  had  adopted  it 
in  their  creed.  But  in  the  popular  theology  it  was  entirely 
unknown.  The  symbols  which  an  early  priesthood  had  devised 
to  represent  the  attributes  of  God,  had  become  themselves  the 
deities  of  later  generations.  The  Persians  learned  to  worship 
the  pure  immaterial  fire  which  had  displayed  the  Theism  of 
their  ancestors,  and  the  forms  by  which  the  priests  of  Memphis 
ani  Heliopohs  shadowed  forth  their  views  of  the  One  Supreme, 
their  mystic  import  forgotten,  became  in  after  ages  the  count- 
less gods  of  Egypt. 

With  the  Jew  alone  the  Divine  Unity  was  the  very  ground- 
work of-  his  creed,  and  a  truth  distinctly  recognised  by  every 
class,  from  the  learned  Rabbi  in  the  courts  of  the  sanctuary, 
to  the  humblest  vine-dresser  on  the  hills  of  Hebron.  Alone 
among  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  their  temple  held  no 
"  graven  image ;"  and  when  the  conqueror  Pompey  entered 
the  Holy  Place,  he  learned  with  wonder,  says  Tacitus,  that  it 
contained  no  emblem  of  the  Deity  whose  sanctuary  he  had 
violated.*  Heathen  writers,  too,  observed  the  fact,  and  some- 
times recorded  their  astonishment  at  a  spiritual  worship,  the 
subhmity  of  which  they  seemed  unable  to  appreciate.  Its 
grandeur  was  lost  even  upon  the  philosophical  historian  of 


*  Hist.  v.  9.    Nulla  intus  Deum  eflSgie,  vacuam  sedem  et  inania  ar- 
cana. 

2* 


18  JUDAISM. 


Rome,  though  he  recognised  the  fact  itself,  and  in  a  single 
sentence  described  their  doctrine.*  The  poet,  too,  who  pours 
out  his  sarcasms  so  bitterly  upon  the  vices  of  his  countrymen, 
on  one  occasion  turns  aside  to  give  a  distorted  view  of  the 
tenets  of  the  Jews,  and  states  it  as  a  truth,  that  they  adored 
nothing  but  the  clouas  and  the  Divinity  that  fills  the  heavens — 

"  Nil  prseter  nubes  et  coeli  nmnen  adorent."f 

Each  prophet  inculcated  upon  the  Hebrews  the  truth,  that 
idolatry  was  to  be  their  national  peril  and  their  national  crime. 
The  Deity  they  worshipped  was  "  a  jealous  God,"  and  apos- 
tacy,  even  in  a  single  city,  if  not  atoned  for,  was  to  bring  upon 
the  whole  land  weakness  and  servitude,  Judea  was  the  for- 
tress of  the  truth,  and  among  its  rugged  heights  and  through 
its  deep  valleys,  the  chosen  people  dwelt  from  age  to  age  as 
guardians  of  the  honor  of  their  Sovereign,  though  beleaguered 
by  unnumbered  foes.  Difficult  indeed  was  the  warfare  com- 
mitted to  these  simple  and  pastoral  tribes,  for  the  idolatrous 
nations  which  hemmed  them  in  on  every  side  were  "  greater 
and  mightier  than  themselves,"  and  the  worship  of  their 
"  strange  gods"  gorgeous  and  seductive.  With  the  faith  they 
were  to  support,  Egypt,  Philistia,  and  Sidon, — the  Chaldean, 
the  Assyrian,  and  the  Grecian, — could  have  no  sympathy,  and 
Israel  therefore  stood  alone.     Through  all  the  changes  of  so- 

*  Judsei  mente  sola,  unuinque  numen  intelligunt —  Summura  illud  et 
aRternum,  neque  miitabile,  neque  interiturum.     Tac.  Hist.  v.  5. 
'  'Mv.  xiv.  141 


JUDAISM.  19 


ciety — in  every  gradation,  from  the  barbarism  of  a  nomadic 
tribe  to  the  luxury  which  marked  their  closing  years — the  Jews 
remained  an  unmingled  people.  In  every  step,  left  as  they 
were  in  a  measure  to  work  out  their  own  advance  in  civiliza- 
tion, and  displaying  ever  the  virtues  and  the  vices  peculiar  to 
the  state  through  which  they  were  passing,  they  retained  that 
great  lesson  for  the  preservation  of  which  Abraham  had  been 
forced  to  leave  the  home  of  his  idolatrous  fathers,  lest  their 
Isabian  worship  should  infect  his  children.  Thus,  we  have 
always  the  same  picture  before  us.  Under  the  tents  of  the 
Syrian  shepherds,  when  they  wandered  over  the  wide  and  open 
plains  of  inland  Asia — in  the  gorgeous  temple  of  Solomon, — or 
when  Grecian  art  endeavored  in  vain  to  graft  its  refinements 
on  the  rigid  system  of  the  Mosaic  law — they  preserved  the 
simplicity  of  their  creed,  or  if  for  a  time  they  wandered,  re- 
turned again  with  new  devotion  to  cling  to  their  belief  in  the 
Unity  of  God.  It  is  therefore  a  high  compliment  which  Gibbon 
pays  them,  when  he  bitterly  says — "  The  sullen  obstinacy  with 
which  they  maintained  their  peculiar  rites  and  imsocial  manners, 
seemed  to  mark  them  out  a  distinct  species  of  men,  who  boldly 
professed,  or  who  faintly  disguised,  their  implacable  hatred  to 
the  rest  of  human  kind.  Neither  the  violence  of  Antiochus,  nor 
the  acts  of  Herod,  nor  the  example  of  the  chcumjacent  nations, 
could  ever  persuade  the  Jews  to  associate  with  the  institutions 
of  Moses  the  elegant  mythology  of  the  Greeks."*     What  the 

*  Decline  and  Fall,  ch,  xv. 


20  JUDAISM. 


skeptical  historian  regarded  as  religious  fanaticism,  was  with 
them  the  result  of  a  deep,  settled,  and  conscientious  feehng. 

And  this  was  the  very  object  of  Providence.  This  solitary- 
attachment  of  the  IsraeUtes  to  their  sacred  code  was  to  per- 
petuate an  immutable  faith.  They  were  to  be  different  from 
every  other  people,  and  their  system  to  be  what  no  other  nation 
had  imagined.  They  were  withdrawn  from  the  rest  of  their 
fellow-beings,  by  isolating  them  amidst  a  multitude  gf  rites 
and  ceremonies,  to  occupy  their  unsteady  spirits.  These  were 
gorgeous,  to  indulge  them  in  their  sensual  tastes,  as  far  as 
possible  without  violating  the  adoration  of  the  Creator;  and 
the  people  were  hostile  to  their  neighbors,  that  they  might 
never  be  seduced  to  blend  with  them.*  "A great  gulf"  they 
could  not  pass,  was  to  separate  them  from  the  dark  and  san- 
guinary superstition  of  Moloch,  the  licentious  worship  of 
Baalpeor,  and  the  impure  and  flagitious  rites  of  the  Babylonian 
Mylitta,  of  Chemosh  and  Ashtaroth. 

We  can  imagine,  then,  how  deeply  this  system  must  have 
been  graven  on  the  hearts  and  linked  to  the  prejudices  of  the 
people.  And  yet  against  it— -so  cherished  and  time-honored — 
the  new  faith  seemed  to  be  arrayed.  Christianity  proclaimed 
that  Judaism  was  intended  only  for  the  childhood  of  the  hu- 
man race,  but  the  time  had  now  amved  when  they  should 
"  put  away  childish  things  ;"  that  it  was  to  be  the  conservator 
of  the  truth,  while,  age  after  age,  the  promises  of  Redemption 

*  D' Israelis  Genius  of  Judaism,  p.  '75. 


JUDAISM.  21 


were  slowly  brightening  ;  but  now,  "  the  fulness  of  time"  had 
come,  and  its  mission  was  fulfilled.  It  needed  nothing  else, 
therefore,  to  summon  up  against  the  faith  the  fanaticism  of 
every  sect  among  the  Jews,  for  with  all  it  was  equally  uncom- 
promising. With  the  Pharisee,  it  poured  contempt  upon  his 
boasted  learjiing,  and  swept  away  the  long  list  of  traditions, 
which  ages  had  been  building  up,  until  every  action  of  the  Jew 
was  feared  with  a  grievous  bondage.  The  lawyers — the  in- 
terpreters of  the  Sacred  Books — were  filled  with  dismay,  while 
they  listened  to  one  who  assumed  authority  over  the  divinely 
inspired  institutes  of  their  ancient  Lawgiver,  because  Moses 
was  only  "  faithful  in  all  his  house  as  a  servant ;"  but  He 
Himself  "  as  a  son  over  his  own  house" — while  the  Sadducee 
felt  that  the  very  existence  of  his  sect  depended  on  the  defeat 
of  Christianity.  The  members  of  this  increasing  party  in  the 
Sanhedrim  had,  at  an  early  period  of  our  Lord's  ministry,  been 
brought  into  collision  with  Him,  and  retired  from  the  contest 
silenced  and  ashamed.  And  as  the  new  faith  became  more 
fully  revealed,  and  "the  rising  from  the  dead"  stood  forth  as 
one  of  its  prominent  articles,  it  was  of  course  committed  in 
irreconcilable  hostility  with  those  whose  leading  doctrine  was 
"  that  there  is  no  resurrection,  neither  angel  nor  spirit."* 

In  addition  to  this,  the  fact  that  to  the  Gentiles  the  Gospel 
was  preached,  gave  a  final  blow  to  every  thing  which  enabled 
the  Jews  exclusively  to  appropriate  the  promises  to  themselves. 

*  Acts,  xxiii  8. 


22  JUDAISM. 


Enslaved  as  they  were  to  ancient  prejudices,  this  doctrine  was 
alone  sufficient  to  array  them  against  the  innovating  faith.  It 
was  something  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  privileges  of  the 
chosen  people,  and  the  cherished  idea  from  which  they  parted 
most  reluctantly  was  the  belief,  that  for  them  alone  were  re- 
served the  promised  blessings  of  the  Messiah's  reign.  It  clung 
to  them  even  after  they  had  become  the  disciples  of  our  Lord, 
and  the  first  Christian  teachers  were  Jews  in  the  inve^acy  of 
their  prejudices.  Of  their  early  narrow  views  they  could  not 
divest  themselves.  They  had,  indeed,  found  the  Messiah — 
they  preached  Him  to  their  own  countrymen — but  they  be- 
lieved not  that  any  except  of  the  lineage  of  Abraham  were  to 
share  in  these  blessings.  In  His  death  and  sufferings  they  re- 
cognised the  fulfilment  of  those  prophecies  which  portrayed 
Him  as  *'  the  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief,"  and 
now  they  waited  for  the  hour  when  He  should  be  revealed  in 
His  glory,  and  sitting  on  the  throne  of  David,  reign  over  a 
Kingdom  without  limit  and  without  end.  Even  in  those  fear- 
ful days,  when  He  still  lingered  on  earth  after  His  resurrection, 
this  idea  was  still  predominant,  and  an  Apostle  could  put  to 
Him  the  question — "  Lord,  wilt  thou  at  this  time  restore  again 
the  kingdom  to  Israel  ?"  Before  that  generation  should  pass 
away,  they  expected  all  these  things  to  be  fulfilled — a  day  of 
triumph  once  more  dawn  upon  the  favored  people  as  they 
gathered  around  their  King — and  the  redeemed  Jew,  released 
from  his  thraldom,  behold  the  Roman  crushed  before  him,  and 
his  country's  sceptre  swaying  a  wider  dominion  than  in  the 


JUDAISM.  23 


days  of  Solomon.  There  is,  therefore,  nothing  more  striking 
in  the  whole  history  of  our  faith  than  the  manner  in  which  it 
acted  on  the  minds  of  the  Apostles  themselves,  gradually 
emancipating  them  from  the  nan^owness  of  their  Jewish  pre- 
judices, and  imparting  a  wider  and  more  comprehensive  view. 
Their  contracted  horizon  expanded  as  hght  was  poured  in  upon 
their  minds  ;  it  passed  the  borders  of  the  Holy  Land,  and,  like 
the  horizon  in  the  natural  world,  receding  as  the  ministers  of 
the  truth  advanced,  lured  them  on  to  nobler  conquests.  One 
barrier  after  another  was  swept  away — first  the  proselytes  of 
the  gate  were  admitted  within  the  pale — then  the  whole  Gentile 
world  was  welcomed  into  their  bond  of  brotherhood,  and  St. 
Paul  could  make  the  sublime  announcement,  as  embodying  the 
spirit  of  his  faith — "  There  is  neither  Greek  nor  Jew,  circum- 
cision nor  uncircumcision.  Barbarian,  Scythian,  bond  nor  free  ; 
but  Christ  is  all,  and  in  all."  Thus,  at  last,  every  film  of  pre- 
judice was  removed,  and  they  were  prepared  to  go  forth  to 
the  work  of  the  world's  redemption.  To  them  Jesus  had 
ceased  to  be  only  the  Messiah  of  the  Jews,  and  they  had 
learned  to  recognise  Him  in  His  loftier  office  of  Redeemer  of 
the  whole  human  race.  Yet  we  perceive  how  slow  were  the 
successive  steps  by  which  they  reached  this  point,  and  freed 
their  minds  from  the  inveterate  influence  of  the  rehgion  in 
which  they  had  been  trained. 

But  this  was  too  high,  too  mysterious  a  view  for  the  narrow 
vision  of  the  Jewish  Rabbis.  They  reahzed  that  their  contest 
with  the  new  faith  had  depending  on  it  no  trifling  results.     It 


24  JUDAISM. 


was  not  a  warfare  between  rival  sects  for  supremacy  over  the 
public  mind.  It  was  a  struggle  for  the  maintenance  of  that 
whole  existing  system  on  which  their  power  was  built  up — ^for 
the  life  or  death  of  that  authority  which  they  wielded  with 
such  despotic  rule  over  a  priest-ridden  people.  Let  all  Israel 
once  acknowledge  Jesus  to  be  the  Messiah,  and  their  spiritual 
aristocracy  was  gone — their  hierarchy  must  descend  from  its 
high  place  and  be  like  the  rest,  mere  learners  in  the  school  of 
Christ.  Remove  that  passionate  jealousy  with  which  the  peo- 
ple looked  upon  the  ceremonial  law,  and  it  was  smiting  to  the 
groimd  that  majestic  fabric  which  ages  had  been  rearing  into 
symmetry  and  beauty.  And  with  it,  of  course,  fell  the  power 
and  influence  of  its  teachers.  What,  to  the  Christian,  was  the 
profound  study  of  the  Rabbi,  which  enabled  him  to  decide  on 
the  ambiguous  passages  of  the  Levitical  law  ?  What  cared  he 
for  the  acuteness  of  the  scribe  or  the  subtlety  of  the  lawyer, 
when  he  had  rejected  the  traditions  they  spent  their  lives  in 
unfolding  ?  To  him  the  ancient  Cabala  was  invested  with  no 
authority,  and  the  learning  of  the  older  wise  meft  was  set  aside 
for  the  simple  teaching  of  Him  who  "  spake  as  never  man 
spake."  To  his  eyes  the  wisdom  of  the  synagogue  and  the 
school  was  obsolete.  He  had  listened  to  nobler  instructions, 
and  his  spirit  rejoiced  in  loftier  hopes  and  more  cheering  con- 
solations than  the  rulers  of  Israel  could  minister  to  him.  They 
looked,  therefore,  upon  the  Christian  as  an  irreclaimable  apos- 
tate, and  one  whose  influence  was  fatal  to  all  that  most  they 
prized.     It  was  breaking  the  chains  with  which  this  hierarchy 


JUDAISM.  25 

had  so  long  enslaved  the  public  mind — it  was  sweeping  away 
that  popular  reverence  on  which  their  supremacy  rested — and 
stripping  them  at  once  of  that  pride  of  superior  wisdom  they 
had  so  long  enjoyed  and  abused.  And  to  whom  were  they  to 
yield  the  sceptre  of  their  power  ?  Who  were  to  fill  the  lofty 
seats  they  were  called  to  abandon  ?  A  peasant  of  Galilee, 
with  his  disciples,  fishermen,  and  tax-gatherers — ^leaders  with 
regard  to  whom  their  own  associates  could  ask,  "  Whence 
have  these  men  learning  ?"  Can  we  wonder,  then,  that  every 
feeling  and  passion  was  stirred  up  from  its  lowest  depths — that 
habit,  and  pride,  and  interest  united  to  awaken  their  animosity 
against  the  rising  faith — and  that  they  i-eplied  to  the  holy  pre- 
cepts of  its  Teacher  only  with  a  sneer  or  an  anathema  ? 

It  would  be  impossible  to  find  any  sect  among  the  Jews 
which  was  disposed  to  make  common  cause  with  Christianity, 
or  rather,  whose  prejudices  did  not  at  once  array  them  against 
it.  In  the  progress  of  the  sacred  narrative  we  see  this  de- 
veloped, as  our  Lord  and  His  disciples  encountered  either  the 
contemptuous  scorn  of  the  Herodian  and  the  aristocratic  Sad- 
ducee,*  or  the  fanatical  rage  of  the  zealot  and  the  Pharisee. 
But  of  one  sect  alone,  the  Essenes,  we  find  no  mention  there, 
nor  does  our  Lord,  in  His  discourses,  seem  ever  to  allude  to 
them.     Yet  we  know,  from  their  tenets,  that  in  this  respect 


*  The  sect  of  the  Sadducees  was  confined  to  the  wealthy  and  influential 
men,  principally  in  the  metropolis  and  cities.  John  Hircanus,  the  High- 
Priest,  imited  himself  with  them,  and  after  his  death  his  sons  continued 
to  favor  them. 

3 


26  JUDAISM. 


they  could  have  formed  no  exception  to  their  countrymen. 
They  were  the  predecessors  of  the  Therapeutae  of  Egypt,  and 
in  a  later  day,  of  the  monks  in  the  Christian  Church.  The 
same  regions  which,  at  the  coming  of  our  Lord,  witnessed  the 
emaciated  forms  of  these  Jewish  ascetics,  three  centuries  after- 
wards exhibited  the  folly  of  the  StyHtes.*  Retiring  from  the 
world  to  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  the  Essenes  dwelt  on 
some  highly  cultivated  oases  in  the  desert,  among  groves  of 
palm-trees,  of  which,  according  to  the  picturesque  expression 
of  Pliny,  they  were  the  companions.  Amid  fertile  fields,  won 
from  the  barren  wilderness,  they  passed  their  rigid  and  ascetic 
lives.  They  neither  married  nor  gave  in  marriage — they 
neither  bought  nor  sold,  but  all  things  were  in  common,  and 
they  gained  their  support  from  the  earth  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brow.  Silent  and  unsocial,  each  one  wrapped  in  his  own 
thoughts,  a  quiet  reigned  through  their  habitations  like  that 
which  now  marks  a  Carthusian  monastery.  "  Wonderful  na- 
tion!" says  the  Roman  naturalist,  "which  endures  for  cen- 
turies, but  in  which  no  child  is  ever  bom !" 

With  the  tenets  of  the  Jewish  law  they  seemed  to  have  but 
little  in  common,  or  rather,  we  should  say,  they  had  abandoned 
almost  every  thing  that  made  Judaism  distinctive.  They  went 
not  up  to  Jerusalem,  nor  offered  sacrifices  in  the  temple  ;  and 
the  Heaven  to  which  they  looked  forward  was  more  hke  the 
fabled  Elysium  of  the  Greeks,  than  any  thmg  which  revelation 

*  MosheinCa  Eccles.  Htst,  v.  i  cap.  3,  sect.  12. 


JUDAISM.  2T 


holds  out  as  our  future  rest.  Still  less  would  their  creed  ac- 
cord with  the  free  and  lofty  spirit  of  Christianity.  It  might 
agree  with  the  faith  in  its  abolition  of  the  ceremonial  law  and 
the  substitution  of  a  more  spiritual  worship  in  its  place,  but 
beyond  this  every  thing  would  be  repugnant  to  that  system  in 
which  the  Essene  had  embodied  his  faith.  He  was  as  much 
the  slave  to  forms  and  minute  observances  as  the  strictest 
Pharisee,  who  prayed  at  the  comer  of  the  streets,  or  tithed 
out,  with  scrupulous  accuracy,  his  "anise,  mint,  and  cummin." 
But,  unhke  the  Pharisee,  he  never  attempted  to  disseminate 
his  principles.  He  sought  no  proselytes,  and  could  never  have 
sympathized  with  that  aggressive  spirit  of  the  Gospel,  which 
bid  its  followers  inculcate  the  truth  wherever  sinning,  suffering 
man  could  be  found  to  hsten.  Essenism  was,  indeed,  a  form 
of  that  wide-spread  Oriental  philosophy  which,  in  after  ages, 
under  the  name  of  Manihaeism,  infected  for  a  time  the 
Cluirches  of  Asia.  Its  main  principle  was,  that  all  matter  is 
the  creation  of  an  Evil  Being ;  and,  therefore,  life  must  be 
spent  in  the  most  severe  mortification  of  this  material  body 
which  interfered  with  the  purity  of  the  immaterial  spirit.  .  Its 
appetites  and  propensities  of  every  kind  were,  in  themselves, 
evil.  Every  pleasure  was  forbidden  as  sin,  and  the  entire  ex- 
tinction of  the  passions  of  the  body  was  inculcated  as  the  only 
real  virtue.  In  this  they  agreed  with  the  stem  teaching  of  the 
Grecian  Stoic,  but  not  with  the  lessons  of  Him  who  dignified 
our  mortal  nature  by  Himself  assuming  it,  and  who  hath  de- 
clared that  the  body  is  "  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  and 


28  JUDAISM. 


is  to  be  again  lifted  up  from  the  dust  of  dissolution  and  made 
fit  forever  to  be  the  tabernacle  of  its  spiritual  and  glorified 
partner.  Is  there  not,  too,  something  significant  in  the  fact, 
that  our  Lord  seems  never  to  have  brought  His  Gospel  before 
the  members  of  this  monastic  fraternity  ?  He  appears  never 
to  have  encountered  them,  though  he  mixed  with  men  of  every 
class,  and  every  shade  of  opinion — the  self-righteous  Pharisees 
and  the  despised  publicans  and  sinners — and  in  His  repeated 
journeys,  we  can  trace  Him  through  every  district  of  the  Holy 
Land,  except  that  near  the  Dead  Sea,  in  which  the  agricul- 
tural settlements  of  the  Essenes  were  situated.* 

These  then  were  the  different  sects  of  Judaism.  Upon  all 
of  them  the  exclusive  spirit  of  its  rites  was  acting,  creating 
that  narrowness  of  view  which  was  sufficient  to  array  them 
against  a  faith  whose  gentle  lessons  and  expanded  charity  were 
a  reproach  to  all. 

But  another  consideration — the  people  were  attached  to  the 
rites  of  their  law  from  their  venerable  antiquity.  It  is  a  strange 
coincidence  that  the  language  of  the  Hebrews  contains  no 
present  tense.     How  singularly  adapted  to  the  state  of  a  peo- 


*  MilmarCs  Hist,  of  Christianity,  v.  i.  p.  158.  Philo  divides  the  Es- 
senes into  two  classes,  the  practical  and  the  contemplative,  the  former 
dwelt  in  Palestine  and  the  latter  chiefly  in  Egypt.  It  is  to  these,  called 
the  Therapeutae,  that  many  learned  men  suppose  St.  Paul  refers,  when 
he  warns  the  Colossians  against  "volimtary  humility,"  and  "worshipping 
of  angels,"  and  where  he  censures  that  kind  of  "  will  worship,  and  hu- 
mility, and  neglecting  of  the  body,"  which  distinguished  these  Egyptian 
ascetics. 


JUDAISM.  29 


pie  who  had  themselves  no  present — who,  deep  in  the  shadows 
of  the  past,  seemed  to  have  flitted  on  the  scene  from  some  pre- 
existerit  state,  and  whose  gaze  was  either  backward  to  the 
glories  of  an  earlier  day,  or  forward  to  the  nobler  revelations 
which  the  future  promised  !  Yet  hving  thus  with  the  past, 
how  must  the  institutions  of  their  faith  have  become  entwined 
with  every  feeling  of  reverence  and  aflfection !  With  them,  every 
thing  was  ancient — nothing  obsolete.  They  felt  that  these 
rites  were  inculcated  on  their  fathers,  while  "  the  earth  shook 
and  the  heavens  also  dropped  at  the  presence  of  God."  The 
fires  of  Sinai  proclaimed  the  deliverance  of  this  law  to  Moses. 
The  appearance  of  the  Deity — an  appearance  without  simili- 
tude— rested  before  the  eye  of  mortal  man,  and  millions  of 
human  witnesses  attested  and  trembled.  From  amidst  the 
dense  cloud  resting  on  the  awful  mountain,  "the  voice  of 
words"  sanctified  and  established  Judaism  to  them  forever; 
and  when  their  leader  returned  from  the  lofty  peak  where  he 
had  been  alone  with  God,  the  awe-struck  people  beheld  his 
face  so  radiant  with  the  reflected  glory  before  which  he  had 
been  standing,  that  they  could  not  gaze  upon  it,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  cover  it  with  a  veil.  Thus  they  received  their 
system  of  behef  and  worship,  and  it  is  to  this  that  the  Law- 
giver sublimely  refers  when  he  says — "  He  is  thy  God,  that 
hath  done  for  thee  these  great  and  terrible  things,  which  thine 
eyes  have  seen."  These  wonders  formed  the  legends  of  the 
people  which  they  rehearsed  to  each  other  as  they  sat  in 
their  homes,  or  met  together  on  their  holy  festivals,  and  it  was 

3* 


30  JUDAISM. 


on  these  awful  revelations  that  they  rested  the  foundation  of 
their  faith.  It  was  to  these,  too,  that  the  Pharisees  exultingly 
appealed,  when  as  an  answer  to  the  miracles  of  Jesus,  they 
replied,  "We  know  that  God  spake  unto  Moses." 

They  saw  also  that  the  laws  of  other  legislators  had  passed 
away,  for  their  views  were  transient  as  the  glory  of  the  people 
to  whom  they  administered.  Mysterious  Egypt,  with  her  les- 
sons of  wisdom  which  were  ancient  when  Greece  was  young — 
Media  and  Persia,  with  their  laws  pronounced  unchangeable — 
Assyria  with  her  mighty  power,  and  Babylon  with  her  magnifi- 
cence— all  the  nations  with  whom  through  the  lapse  of  centu- 
ries the  chosen  people  had  been  brought  into  contact,  had  in 
succession  lost  the  sceptre  which  once  they  wielded,  and  their 
codes  become  only  records  on  the  page  of  history.  And  over 
each  mighty  empire,  as  its  greatness  sank  in  ruin,  the  Hebrew 
prophets  had  uttered  their  sublime  funeral  anthem,  like  the 
tragic  chorus  of  the  Greeks,  as  they  calmly  watched  the  pro- 
gress of  some  awful  drama.*  But  "  the  fewest  of  all  people" 
were  still  a  nation  hving  among  these  wrecks  of  the  past,  and 
surviving  the  spoilers  who  had  formerly  trampled  them  be- 
neath their  feet.  And  the  laws  of  Moses — unaltered  as  they 
were  once  delivered  to  their  race,  breathing  the  inspiration  in 
which  they  originated — after  countless  ages,  were  still  guiding 
their  unchangeable  tribes,  and  were  thus  commended  to  their 
affections  by  claims  which  each  year  was  strengthening. 


*  Milman's  Hist,  of  Jews,  I  243. 


JUDAISM.  31 


And  how  much  was  there  to  enlist  the  attachment  of  the 
worshippers !  Solemn  as  were  the  sanctions  of  their  faith, 
there  was  much  in  its  festivals  which  was  joyous  and  calculated 
to  brighten  the  chain  of  brotherhood  which  linked  together 
their  distant  tribes.  See  them  in  the  autumn,  when,  the  vin- 
tage over,  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles  called  them  to  rejoice. 
When  the  gardens  and  fields  had  begun  to  assume  the  sear 
and  yellow  hue  of  the  declining  year,  the  environs  of  their  vil- 
lages were  again  covered  with  a  sudden  verdure.  The  palm, 
the  fir,  the  myrtle,  and  the  pomegranate,  were  compelled  to 
yield  their  more  durable  fohage ;  and  while  the  fields  were 
parched  by  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  vineyards  had  been 
already  stripped,  at  once  Spring  appeared  to  return  with  all 
its  variety  of  colors. 

"  The  thickly  woven  boughs  they  wreathe, 
A  soft  reviving  odor  breathe 

Of  summer's  gentle  reign." 

The  citrons  and  apples  of  Paradise  glowed  amidst  the  dark 
green  of  the  bowers,  and  when  the  evening  star  appeared  in 
heaven  above  the  western  sea,  every  family,  after  the  customa- 
ry ablutions,  left  its  dweUing  to  occupy  its  tabernacle,  thus 
commemorating  the  years  their  fathers  dwelt  in  tents  during 
their  passage  through  the  wilderness.  The  inhabitants  of  Je- 
rusalem beheld  at  once  thousands  of  lamps  sparkhng  forth  on 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  in  the  vale  of  Kedron,  and  on  the  roofs 
of  the  houses  in  their  city,  seeming  like  stars  of  the  earth,  an- 
swering to  those  by  which  the  heavens  were  already  over- 


32  JUDAISM. 


spread.*  And  the  gentle  breeze  which  stirred  the  leaves  of 
their  bowers  brought  on  its  wings  the  sounds  of  festivity  and 
pautual  congratulations,  as  they  echoed  on  every  side  amidst 
the  music  of  the  harp  and  cymbals.  It  was  indeed  a  season 
of  rejoicing  ;  and  each  year,  as  the  sacred  festival  came  round, 
was  renewed  that  scene  witnessed  at  its  first  celebration  after 
the  captivity,  when  Ndhemiah  declared,  "there  was  very 
great  gladness. "f  Then  the  song  and  dance  were  heard  in 
the  vineyards  of  Heshbon  and  Esdraelon,  while  loftier  recollec- 
tions cheered  their  hearts  than  any  which  could  gladden  those 
who  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus  rejoiced  at  the  gathering  of 
the  grapes.  No  laughter  of  mad  votaries  echoed  through 
their  tabernacles,  no  frantic  bacchanals  degraded  their  week 
of  festivity,  no  dances  of  the  satyrs  spoke  of  the  rites  of 
heathenism^ — but  the  daughters  of  Israel,  as  they  moved  in 
graceful  measures,  thought  of  Miriam  by  the  Red  Sea,  and 
their  hearts  responded, 

"  I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord,  for  he  hath  triumphed  gloriously." 

Still  more  striking  was  the  yearly  gathering  of  their  people 
at  Jerusalem  at  the  feast  of  the  Passover.  To  the  hill  of  God, 
the  habitation  of  their  Heavenly  King,  they  turned  with  glad- 


*  HelorCs  Pilgrimage,  ii.  230,  \  Neh.  viii.  V]. 

X  Under  the  persecution  of  Antiochus,  as  a  last  insult,  the  feasts  of  the 
BacchanaHa  were  substituted  for  the  national  festival  of  Tabernacles,  and 
the  reluctant  Jews  were  forced  to  join  in  these  riotous  orgies,  and  carry 
the  ivy,  the  insignia  of  the  go  A 


JUDAISM.  33 


ness  as  tliis  solemn  festival  drew  nigh.  "  Thither  the  tribes 
went  up."  It  was  not  the  simultaneous  moving  of  the  popula- 
tion of  a  single  country — not  even  the  gathered  worshippers 
from  each  district  and  village  of  Palestine — but  the  confluence 
of  countless  midtitudes  of  pilgrims  from  every  quarter  of  the 
world ;  for  the  dispersed  Jews  had  planted  their  law  in  its 
remotest  extremities,  and  all  its  proselytes,  at  least  once  in 
their  lives,  presented  themselves  to  pay  their  homage  at  that 
temple  which  was  to  them  the  only  earthly  shrine  of  their 
faith.  From  their  homes  on  the  Euphrates  came  the  descend- 
ants of  those  who  had  remained  in  Babylonia  after  the  captivi- 
ty, where  they  had  grown  to  be  a  powerful  community ;  yet 
still  they  "remembered  Zion,"  and  taught  their  children  to 
"smg  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land."  The  tribes  of 
Arabia — ^the  thousands  who  in  Egypt  hved  where  once  their 
fathers  dwelt  as  slaves — ^the  varied  races  of  Asia  Minor,  Da- 
mascus, Greece,  Italy,  and  even  the  distant  West,  as  far  as 
Spain  and  Gaul — all  sent  their  representatives  to  mingle  with 
that  mighty  concourse  which  then  thronged  the  streets  of  Je- 
rusalem. St.  Luke  thus  enumerates  some  of  those  who  listen- 
ed to  the  first  preaching  of  the  Gospel  after  the  crucifixion  of 
our  Lord  :* — "  Parthians  and  Medes,  and  Elamites,  and  the 


*  "  Every  race  of  mankind,  in  its  most  marked  peculiarities,  there 
passed  beneath  the  eye.  There  came  the  long  train  of  swarthy  slaves 
and  menials  roxmd  the  chariot  of  the  Indian  prince,  clothed  in  the  silks 
and  jewels  of  the  regions  beyond  the  Ganges.  Upon  them  pressed  the 
troop  of  African  lion-hunters,,  half  naked,  but  with  their  black  limbs 


34  JUDAISM. 


dwellers  in  Mesopotamia  and  in  Judea,  and  Cappadocia,  in  Pon- 
tus  and  Asia,  Phrygia  and  Pamphylia,  in  Egypt,  and  in  the 
parts  of  Libya  about  Cyrene,  and  strangers  of  Rome,  Jews  and 
proselytes,  Cretes  and  Arabians."  As  the  feast  drew  nigh, 
the  highways  which  led  to  the  Holy  City  were  filled  as  by 
one  living  torrent ;  and  Josephus,  from  the  number  of  paschal 
lambs  sacrificed  on  one  of  these  solemn  occasions,  has  estimated 
the  pilgrims  and  residents  at  Jerusalem  at  nearly  three  mil- 
lions. "  It  is  difficult  for  those  who  are  ignorant  of  the  extra- 
ordinary power  which  local  religious  reverence  holds  over 
Southern  and  Asiatic  nations,  to  imagine  .the  state  of  Judea 
and  Jerusalem  at  the  time  of  this  great  periodical  festival. 
The  rolhng  onward  of  countless  and  gathering  masses  of  popu- 
lation to  some  of  the  temples  in  India ;  the  caravans  from  all 


wreathed  with  pearl  and  fragments  of  unwrought  gold.  Behind  them 
moved  on  their  camels  a  patriarchal  group,  the  Arab  Sheik,  a  venerable 
figure  with  his  white  locks  flowing  from  beneath  his  turban,  leading  his 
sons,  like  our  father  Abraham,  from  the  wilderness  to  the  Moimt  of  Vis- 
ion, Then  rolled  on  the  ghttering  chariot  of  the  Assyrian  chieftain,  a 
regal  show  of  purple  and  gems,  and  convoyed  by  horsemen  covered  with 
armor.  The  Scythian  Jews,  wrapped  in  the  furs  of  the  wolf  and  bear, 
iron  men  of  the  north ;  the  noble  Greek,  the  perfection  of  the  human 
form,  with  his  countenance  beaming  the  genius  and  beauty  of  his  coim- 
try ;  the  broad  and  yellow  features  of  the  Chinese  rabbins  ;  the  fair  skins 
and  gigantic  forms  of  the  German  tribes ;  strange  clusters  of  men  un- 
known to  the  limits  of  Europe  or  Asia,  with  their  black  locks,  complex- 
ions of  the  color  of  gold,  and  slight  yet  sinewy  Umbs,  marked  with  figures 
of  suns  and  stars  struck  into  the  flesh — marched  crowd  on  crowd.  The 
representative  world  was  before  me." — Chroh/s  Salathiel,  L  10. 


JUDAISM.  35 


quarters  of  the  Eastern  world,  which  assemble  at  Mecca  during 
the  holy  season ;  the  multitudes  which  formerly  flowed  to 
Loretto  or  Rome  at  the  great  ceremonies,  when  the  Roman 
Cathohc  religion  held  its  unenfeebled  sway  over  the  mind  of 
Europe — do  not  surpass,  perhaps  scarcely  equal,  the  sudden, 
simultaneous  confluence  towards  the  capital  of  Judea  at  the 
time  of  the  Passover."*  It  was  indeed  a  magnificent  spec- 
tacle, well  calculated  to  awaken  in  the  breast  of  the  Jew 
every  feeling  of  national  pride,  both  for  his  country  and  his 
faith. 

"We  must  remember,  too,  the  deep  religious  spirit,  amounting 
even  to  a  high-wrought  enthusiasm,  which  pervaded  all  these 
gathered  thousands,  and  invested  every  step  of  their  pilgrimage 
with  a  surpassing  interest.  "They  went  from  strength  to 
strength,  until  every  one  of  them  in  Zion  appeared  before 
God."  We  can  imagine  some  features  of  this  scene,  as  it  was 
witnessed  among  those  who  went  up  from  the  land  of  Judea. 
The  sun  is  rising  over  Hebron,  its  earhest  beams  lighting  up 
the  lofty  palm-trees  at  the  gates,  when  every  family  is  in  mo- 
tion, for  the  procession  is  about  to  set  forth  to  Jerusalem. 
The  priests  and  elders  head  the  train — the  people  follow,  in- 
terspersed with  their  camels  and  beasts  of  burden — while  the 
Levites,  with  their  instruments  of  music,  are  distributed  among 
the  multitude.  At  length  the  signal  is  given,  and  as  they  set 
forward  together,  they  raise  the  Psalm — 

*  Milman's  Hist,  of  Christianity^  L  152. 


36  JUDAISM. 


I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me, 

We  will  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord ! 

Our  feet  shall  stand  in  thy  gates,  0  Jerusalem  l 

Jerusalem  is  built  as  a  city, 

That  is  at  unity  in  itself ! 

Thither  the  tribes  go  up, 

Even  the  tribes  of  the  Lord  to  testify  unto  Israel, 

To  give  thanks  unto  the  name  of  the  Lord. 

There  is  the  seat  of  judgment, 

Even  the  seat  of  the  house  of  David. 

0  pray  for  the  peace  of  Jerusalem  I 
They  shall  prosper  that  love  thee. 
Peace  be  within  thy  walls, 
Plenteousness  within  thy  palaces  ! 
For  my  brethren  and  companions'  sake, 

1  wish  thee  prosperity ! 
Because  of  the  temple  of  our  God, 

I  will  seek  to  do  thee  good. — Ps,  cxxiL 


It  rises  like  "  the  noise  of  many  waters,"  for  a  soul-felt  ex- 
ultation animates  the  voices  of  old  and  young.  Sweetly  must 
the  sounds  have  been  borne  to  one  who  from  a  distance  could 
have  watched  their  march,  as  now  their  holy  song  rose  from 
the  summit  of  some  hill,  and  then  again  sank  into  the  depths 
of  the  valley.  It  was  on  such  occasions  only  that  the  true 
sublimity  and  beauty  of  the  Jewish  poetry  could  be  felt,  when 
the  harp  and  the  viol  were  heard — the  tabret,  the  cymbal,  and 
the  stringed  instruments — mingled  with  the  voices  of  the  living 
multitude.  They  were  a  people  indeed  who  imbibed  a  love  of 
music  with  the  air  they  breathed,  and  whose  very  climate 
seemed  to  dispose  them  to  harmony.  The  glorious  anthems, 
too,  which  they  chanted — anthems  which  taught  as  much  as 


JUDAISM.  37 


they  elevated — were  those  composed  by  their  warrior  king, 
when  a  shepherd-boy  he  watched  his  father's  flock  in  Bethle- 
hem, or  which  had  cheered  his  sohtude  in  the  desert  caves  of 
Engeddi.  And  now — fresh  and  vivid  for  a  thousand  years — 
they  had  become  "familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household 
words." 

Every  scene  through  which  the  procession  passed  was  le- 
gendary, and  served  for  a  theme  on  which  the  old  addressed 
their  children.  The  region  around  was  smiling  with  all  the 
luxuriance  of  Nature — its  lovely  valleys  filled  with  vineyards 
and  oHve-groves — yet  it  had  a  higher  interest  from  the  fact, 
that  there  the  patriarchs  had  pitched  their  tents  and  tended 
their  flocks,  and  in  the  morning  of  the  world  held  high  com- 
munion with  Jehovah.  They  passed  through  the  grove  of 
Mamre,  and  looked  with  veneration  upon  the  gigantic  oaks 
and  terebinths,  beneath  which  Abraham  dwelt  and  angels  ap- 
peared to  him  ;  and  not  far  distant  was  the  Cave  of  Macpelah, 
where,  said  Jacob,  as  he  gave  directions  that  his  remains 
should  be  placed — "they  buried  Abraham  and  Sarah  his  wife; 
there  they  buried  Isaac  and  Rebecca  his  wife ;  and  there  I 
buried  Leah."  Thp  same  feelings  seemed  to  animate  all.  The 
youths  and  maidens  bounded  for  joy,  and  tears  of  pleasure 
stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  aged.  Those  who  were  going  up  for 
the  first  time  to  the  festival,  looked  and  listened  to  those  who 
had  already  been  there,  as  if  to  hear  from  them  an  explanation 
of  what  they  sung.  The  old  heard,  in  these  festive  acclama- 
tions, the  echo  of  their  own  youthful  joys,  and  while  their 


38  JUDAISM. 


hearts  swelled  with  the  remembrance  of  the  feelings  of  their 
earliest  pilgrimage,  they  beat  yet  higher  with  gratitude  to  Je- 
hovah, who  had  permitted  them,  in  their  gray  hairs,  to  go  up 
once  more  to  His  Holy  Place. 

In  every  town  and  village  to  which  they  came,  they  were 
received  with  shouts  of  joy.  With  the  proverbial  hospitality 
of  the  East,  before  the  doors  of  every  house  tables  were 
standing,  with  dates  and  honey  and  bread,  to  refresh  the  pil- 
grims. At  the  jimction  of  the  roads,  in  the  fields,  and  at  the 
entrance  of  each  town,  new  crowds  of  persons  were  waiting  to 
join  themselves  to  the  long  procession.  Here  and  there,  before 
the  houses,  or  in  the  vineyards,  stood  an  unclean  person,  or  a 
woman,  or  a  child,  who  had  been  compelled  to  remain  at  home, 
and  now  replied  with  tears  to  the  salutations  of  the  passing 
multitudes.  It  seemed  as  if  the  people  carried  all  joy  with 
them  from  the  country  to  Jerusalem,  and  only  sorrow  was  left 
for  those  who  remained  behind.  It  was  with  such  a  procession 
that  we  remember  our  Lord,  when  twelve  years  old,  went  up 
to  the  feast.  And  this  will  explain,  too,  the  apparent  careless- 
ness of  His  parents,  when  they  set  out  to  return  without  Him. 
"  They,  supposing  Him  to  have  been  in  the  company,  went  a 
day's  journey."  They  took  it  for  granted  that  He  was  with 
some  of  their  friends  in  the  long  train,  and  not  until  night, 
therefore,  did  they  "  seek  Him  among  their  kinsfolk  and  ac-  , 
quaintance,  and  when  they  found  Him  not,  turn  back  again  to 
Jerusalem." 

And  thus  the  pilgrims  from  Hebron  journeyed  on,  their 


JUDAISM.  39 


trains  sometimes  covering  both  the  ascent  and  descent  of  the 
hill,  spreading  o^er  the  plain,  and  winding  like  a  wreath  aromid 
the  hill  beyond.  At  length,  descending  a  lofty  elevation,  whose 
sides  were  covered  with  vines,  they  beheld  before  them  in  the 
valley,  the  Pools  of  Solomon.  Then  they  halted  their  pace, 
and  the  following  Psalm  was  smig  : — 

How  lovely  are  Thy  tabernacles,  Lord  of  Hosts  ! 

My  soul  longeth  and  fjainteth  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord, 

My  heart  and  my  flesh  cry  out  for  the  Uving  God. 

As  the  sparrow  that  findeth  her  house, 

As  the  swallow,  a  nest  for  her  young, 

*So  I  Thine  altars,  0  Lord  of  Hosts, 

My  Eling  and  my  God  1 

Blessed  are  they  that  dwell  in  Thy  house ; 

They  are  still  praising  Thee  ; 

Blessed  is  the  man  who  placeth  his  confidence  in  Thee, 

And  thinketh  of  the  way  ia  Jerusalem  1 

Who,  gohig  through  the  Vale  of  Misery, 

Find  therein  a  well. 

And  the  pools  are  filled  with  water. 

They  increase  in  strength  as  they  go  on, 

Till  they  appear  before  God  in  Zion. 

0  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  hear  my  prayer  1 
Hearken,  O  God  of  Jacob  ! 

Behold,  0  God,  our  Defender, 

Look  upon  the  fe,ce  of  Thine  anointed ! 

One  day  in  Thy  courts  is  better  than  a  thousand. 

1  had  rather  be  a  doorkeeper  in  the  house  of  God, 
Than  to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  ungodhness. 

For  Jehovah,  our  God,  is  a  sun  and  shield ; 

Jehovah  giveth  grace  and  glory ; 

No  good  tiling  will  He  withhold  from  them  that  walk  uprightly. 

0  Lord  of  Hosts, 

Blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  Thee. — Ps.  Ixxxiv. 


40  JUDAISM. 


Here  they  halted  during  the  heats  of  mid-day  beneath  the 
shade  of  the  double  row  of  palms,  which  h^d  been  planted 
around  the  pools,  and  as  they  drank  the  refreshing  draught  of 
the  cool  rock-water,  they  blessed  the  memory  of  the  King. 
Under  every  palm-tree  groups  were  gathered,  absorbed  in  the 
prospect  before  them.  Here  the  young  were  eagerly  inquiring 
concerning  Jerusalem  and  the  festival — ^there  a  group  was  lis- 
tening to  a  description  of  the  magnificence  of  the  Temple  ser- 
vice— and  there  a  company  of  men  were  speaking  of  the 
heroic  deeds  of  Hyrcanus  and  the  Maccabees,  imtil  their  hearts 
burned  within  them,  and  they  would  have  rejoiced  once- more 
to  unfurl  the  banner  of  their  tribes,  and  rush  into  deadly  con- 
flict with  their  new  oppressors. 

But  the  timbrels  of  the  Levites  once  more*  struck  up  their 
music,  and  the  procession  again  was  formed.  From  the  Pools 
of  Solomon  they  took  their  way  through  the  hills  to  Bethle- 
hem, continual  accessions  swelling  their  number,  until  it 
amounted  to  thousands.  Beautiful,  indeed,  was  the  view 
from  the  rocky  ridge  on  which  stands  this  City  of  David ! 
The  amphitheatre  which  stretches  around  embraces  the  region 
about  Jericho,  the  Dead  Sea,  and  the  plain  of  the  Valley  of 
Rephaim.  The  Kedron  flows  through  its  fields,  fruitful  as 
the  garden  of  the  Lord,  and  all  are  thickly  set  with  ohve  and 
fig  trees,  with  vines  and  corn.  In  those  luxuriant  pastures  Jacob 
fed  his  flocks — in  its  fertile  fields  Boaz  was  reaping  when  he 
found  his  kinswoman  Ruth — and  here  grew  up  the  son  of  Jesse, 
till  the  day  when  he  came  forth  to  avenge  the  honor  of  his  people 


t     * 


4  > 


JUDAISM.  41 


on  the  boastful  heathen.  All  who  could,  went  through  Beth- 
lehem on  their  way  to  the  feast  at  Jerusalem.  The  road  passed 
by  the  grave  of  Rachel,  and  the  city  itself  was  invested  with 
a  hallowed  interest  in  their  eyes,  because  to  it  the  greatest  of 
all  promises  had  been  given.  Here,  then,  in  his  birthplace,  the 
warrior-bard  was  commemorated,  as  the  one  whose  heart  first 
conceived  the  wish  to  build  that  Temple  to  which  they  were 
now  gomg  up,  and  together  they  sang  the  Psalm : — 

Lord,  remember  David ! 

And  all  his  afflictions. 

How  he  sware  unto  the  Lord, 

And  vowed  imto  the  Mighty  Ope  of  Jacob ; 

Surely  I  will  uot  coine  into  mine  house, 

ISTor  go  up  into  my  bed ; 

I  will  not  give  sleep  to  mine  eyes, 

Nor  slumber  to  mine  eyelids, 

UntU  I  find  out  a  place  for  the  Lord, 

A  habitation  for  the  Mighty  One  of  Jacob. 

Lo,  we  heard  of  it  at  Epliratah, 

We  found  it  in  the  fields  of  Jaar : 

Let  us  go  into  his  tabernacle. 

Let  us  worship  at  his  footstool ! — Ps.  cxxxii. 

The  last  strophe  seemed  to  embody  the  feelings  of  the  peo- 
ple, so  that  they  hngered  over  it  and  repeated  it  again  and 
again,  as  if  they  could  not  leave  it.  Then  the  instruments  of 
the  Levites  rang  forth  with  still  a  louder  tone,  and  the  multi- 
tude lifted  up  their  voice,  as  they  repeated  the  glorious  prom- 
ises of  Jehovah  with  regard  to  this  Temple  : — 

This  is  my  rest  forever : 
Here  will  I  dwell ;  for  I  have  chosen  it. 
4* 


42  JUDAISM. 


I  will  abundantly  bless  her  provision, 
I  will  satisfy  her  poor  with  bread ; 
I  will  clothe  her  priests  with  salvation, 
Her  holy  ones  shall  shout  aloud  for  joy. 
There  will  I  exalt  the  might  of  David 
And  prepare  a  lamp  for  mine  anointed. 
His  enemies  will  I  clothe  with  shame, 
But  on  his  head  shall  the  crown  flourish. 

A  short  distance  only  now  separated  them  from  Jerusalem, 
and  as  their  eager  haste  increased  at  every  step,  their  impa- 
tience fomid  utterance  in  the  Psalm  : — 

Great  is  the  Lord,  and  greatly  to  be  praised 

In  the  City  of  our  God,  even  upon  His  Holy  HilL 

Beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the  whole  land, 

Is  Moimt  Zion,  on  the  north  of  the  city  of  the  great  King. 

God  is  known  in  her  palaces  for  a  refuge. 

"We  think  of  Thy  loving-kindness,  0  God, 

In  the  midst  of  Thy  temple. 

As  Thy  name,  so  Thy  praise  reacheth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 

Thy  right  hand  is  full  of  righteousness. 

Let  the  Hill  of  Zion  rejoice, 

Let  the  daughters  of  Judah  be  glad 

Because  of  Thy  judgments  ! 

Walk  about  Zion,  go  round  about  her ! 

Tell  her  towers ! 

Mark  well  her  bulwarks  ! 

Consider  her  palaces  1 

That  ye  may  tell  it  to  the  generation  following. 

For  this  God  is  our  God,  forever  and  ever. 

He  will  be  our  guide,  as  in  our  youtL — Ps.  xlviiL 

Expectation  had  now  reached  its  height.  It  was  too  great 
even  to  allow  its  expression  in  words,  but  all  were  silently 
watching  for  the  first  sight  of  Jerusalem.     A  faint  murmur 


JUDAISM.  43 


spread  from  rank  to  rank  as  they  were  pressing  eagerly  for- 
ward. All  at  once  the  foremost  exclaimed — "  Jerusalem" — 
and  through  the  valley  of  Rephaim  resounded  the  shout — 
"  Jerusalem  !  Jerusalem  !"  All  rushed  onward  to  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  the  children  dragging  their  parents  forward — every 
hand  was  raised  to  bless  the  place  of  Zion's  solemnities — and 
from  every  heart  and  tongue  uprose  the  anthem : — 

Jerusalem,  thou  city  bmit  on  high, 
We  wish  thee  peace  I* 

There  rose  the  Holy  City,  and  above  it  the  dazzling  glory  of 
that  Temple  which  once  covered  the  heights  of  the  Mount  of 
Vision.  Its  walls,  of  the  purest  marble,  cast  a  gleam  through 
the  valley.  Court  above  court  it  circled  round  the  mount  like 
a  succession  of  diadems — its  alabaster  porticoes — ^its  porphyry 
pillars  and  richly- sculptured  walls — and  above  all,  that  shrine 
which  contained  the  Holy  of  Holies — the  very  palace  of  the 


*  How  similar  to  this  is  the  description  given  by  Tasso  of  the  Cru- 
saders, as  from  the  overhanging  hills  they  gained  their  first  view  of  the 
city  they  came  to  rescue  from  the  infidel : — 

"  Wing'd  is  each  heart,  and  winged  every  heel ; 
They  fly,  yet  notice  not  how  fast  they  fly ; 
Lo,  tower'd  Jerusalem  salutes  the  eye ! 
A  thousand  pointing  fingers  tell  the  tale  ; 

*  Jerusalem  !'  a  thousand  voices  cry, 

*  All  hail,  Jerusalem  !'  hill,  down,  and  dale, 

Catch  the  glad  soirnds,  and  shout, '  Jerusalem,  all  hail  1' " 

Gerus.  Lib.  Cant  iii  3. 


44  JUDAISM. 


King  of  Rings.  Built  of  the  most  precious  marbles,  it  glittered 
in  the  light,  and  as  the  setting  sun  sank  beneath  the  western 
hills,  his  rays  flashed  back  from  the  pinnacles  of  gold  and  bur- 
nished plates  which  cased  its  roof.  Such  was  Mount  Moriah, 
"  a  mountain  of  snow  studded  with  jewels."* 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  evening  sacrifice,  the  trumpet  had 
already  sounded,  and  slowly  the  smoke  of  the  sacrifice  rose  up 
to  heaven,  till,  spreadhig  out  above,  it  seemed  hke  some  gigan- 
tic palm  in  the  clearness  of  that  Eastern  sky.  A  few  moments 
and  the  assembled  multitudes  had  recovered  from  their  sur- 
prise, when  thus  they  paid  their  salutation  to  the  temple  and 
its  priests  : — 

Bless  ye  the  Lord,  all  ye  servants  of  the  Lord, 

Who  stand  by  night  in  the  house  of  the  Lord ! 

Lift  up  your  hands  towards  the  sanctuary, 

And  bless  the  Lord. 

So  will  Jehovah  bless  thee  out  of  Zion ; 

He  who  made  Heaven  and  Earth. — Fs.  cxxxiv. 

We  have  dwelt — perhaps  to  a  disproportionate  length — 
upon  this  pilgrimage,!  ^^^  ^®  know  no  better  way  of  show- 
ing the  spirit  of  Judaism  and  the  manner  in  which  the  rites  of 
their  faith  were  calculated  to  arouse  the  imagination  and  enlist 
the  aflfections  of  an  excitable  people.  And  was  all  this  to  be 
given  up — these  journeys  so  endeared  by  the  recollections  of 


*  Rev.  George  Croly. 

f  For  the  main  features  of  this  sketch  we  are  indebted  to  Straus'  Mel- 
on's Pilgrimage,  v.  i  144. 


JUDAISM.  '  46 


"their  fathers'  day  and  the  old  time  before  them  ?"  So  Chris- 
tianity announced,  for  its  system  was  an  expansive  one,  stretch- 
mg  over  the  whole  earth. 

But,  above  all,  the  solemnities  of  the  Temple  itself  were 
those  which  most  appealed  to  every  feeling  of  reverence  in  the 
Jew.  The  superb  mysteries  of  Grecian  Idolatry,  splendid  as 
they  were,  could  not  so  enchain  the  mind  of  the  worshipper, 
nor  those  costly  fabrics  of  later  days,  whose  remains  are  still 
the  wonder  of  the  world,  compare  with  the  dazzling  beauty  of 
that  sanctuary,  which  crowned  the  highest  point  in  the  City  of 
the  Lord.  The  Israelite  entered  through  the  Beautiful  Gate, 
and  before  him  were  the  different  courts,  separated  by  por- 
phyry pillars,  and  the  many  stately  buildings  for  the  priests 
and  officers  of  the  Temple.  Every  material  employed  was 
costly  and  rare.  Gold  and  the  finest  marbles  glittered  on 
every  side.  He  turned,  and  behind  him,  through  the  open 
colonnades,  beheld  the  rich  landscape  which,  like  an  amphi- 
theatre, stretched  around  the  Holy  City,  before  it  was  spoiled 
and  desolate,  and  the  very  features  of  Nature  were  forced  to 
share  in  the  devastation  which  the  Infidel  brought  upon  Zion. 
There,  on  the  one  side,  was  Befhlehem,  with  its  lovely  slopes, 
covered  with  vineyards  and  orange-groves,  and  on  the  other, 
the  green  sides  of  the  Mount  of  OHves ;  and  the  eye  wandered 
on  till,  in  the  distance,  it  saw  the  mountains  of  Gilgal,  which 
overlooked  the  rich  valley  of  the  Jordan.  But  before  him  was 
the  Gate  of  Nicanor — worthy  in  its  beauty  of  the  royal  Solo- 
mon— and  through  it  he  beheld  the  Levites,  standing  with 


46  JUDAISM. 


their  instruments  of  music  on  the  fifteen  steps,  which  led  to 
the  altar  of  burnt  offerings — that  altar,  the  ceasing  of  the 
daily  sacrifice  on  which,  in  the  last  hours  of  their  siege,  struck 
a  mortal  blow  to  the  heart  of  the  people,  and  made  them  feel 
as  if  all  was  lost  indeed. 

But  in  the  Tabernacle  itself  the  Israehte  realized  that  he 
stood  in  the  presence  of  God.  The  altar  was  the  throne,  and 
every  thing  around  displayed  the  rich  pomp  and  beautiful  orna- 
ments which  deck  the  court  of  an  earthly  monarch — the 
embroidered  tapestry — the  fine  linen — the  golden-branched 
lights — ^the  transparent  curtains — ^the  fuming  incense — ^and  the 
columns  on  their  brazen  bases.  There  were  the  dedicated 
loaves  on  the  table  of  gold — the  vases  holding  "the  strong 
wine  to  be  poured  unto  the  Lord" — the  ewers  "  to  wash  with 
water,  that  they  die  not" — and  the.  flesh,  ever  renewed  on  the 
sacrificial  altar.  It  seemed  to  be  for  the  banquet  of  a  monarch, 
yet  it  was  ever  inviolable,  forever  renewed,  yet  forever  un- 
touched. The  veil  which  was  never  to  be  lifted — the  cheru- 
bims  spreading  their  mystical  wings — the  propitiatory,  where 
the  cloud  of  glory  hung  over  "the  Holy  of  Holies" — every 
object  around  brought  "to  the*  mind  of  the  Israelite  the  per- 
petual recollection  that  the  palace  of  his  sovereign  was  the 
Temple  of  his  God.* 

How  numerous,  too,  the  attendants  in  this  court,  who  served 
before  the  throne,  and  performed  that  ritual  whose  grandeur 

*  jy Israelis  Genius  of  Jvdaism^  p.  39.  u  - 


JUDAISM.  47 


has  never  been  surpassed !  The  Levites  mmistered  by  turns 
in  four-and-twenty  courses  of  a  thousand  each.  Four  thousand 
more  performed  the  lower  offices,  while  four  thousand  singers 
and  minstrels,  with  the  harp  and  trumpet,  the  cymbal  and 
organ,  supplied  that  rich  harmony  which  ever  floated  out  from 
the  Hill  of  Zion's  solemnities,  and,  borne  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind  over  the  Holy  City,  was  a  ceaseless  invitation  to  its 
people  to  come  up  and  worship.  And  with  what  reverence 
did  the  Jews  regard  him  who  stood  at  the  head  of  this  conse- 
crated band — the  High  Priest — when  on  solemn  festivals  he 
came  forth  in  the  gorgeous  robes  which  God  Himself  had  pre- 
scribed !  We  will  let  one  of  themselves  sketch  the  picture,  as 
it  was  presented  to  his  own  mind.  It  is  in  this  language, 
glowing  with  Oriental  metaphors,  that  the  son  of  Sirach  de- 
scribes Simon,  the  High  Priest,  the  son  of  Onias : — 

"  He  was  as  the  morning  star  in  the  midst  of  a  cloud,  and  as  the  moon 
at  the  full ; 

"  As  the  sun  shining  upon  the  temple  of  the  Most  High,  and  as  the 
rainbow  giving  light  in  the  bright  clouds : 

*'  And  as  the  flower  of  roses  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  as  lilies  by  the 
rivers  of  waters,  and  as  the  branches  of  the  frankincense-tree  in  the  time 
of  summer: 

"  As  fire  and  incense  in  the  censer,  and  as  a  vessel  of  beaten  gold  set 
with  all  manner  of  precious  stones : 

"  And  as  a  fair  oUve-tree  budding  forth  fi-uit,  and  as  a  cypress-tree 
which  groweth  up  to  the  clouds. 

"  When  he  put  on  the  robe  of  honor,  and  was  clothed  with  the  per- 
fection of  glory,  when  he  went  up  to  the  holy  altar,  he  made  the  garment 
of  holiness  honorable. 

"  When  he  took  the  portions  out  of  the  priests  hands,  he  himself  stood 
by  the  hearth  of  the  altar,  compassed  with  his  brethren  round  about,  as 


48  JUDAISM. 


a  young  cedar  in  Libanus  ;  and  as  palm-trees  compassed  they  liira  round 
about. 

"  So  were  all  the  sons  of  Aaron  in  their  glory,  and  the  oblations  of  the 
Lord  in  their  hands,  before  all  the  congregation  of.  Israel. 

"  And  finishing  the  service  at  the  altar,  that  he  might  adorn  the  offer- 
ing of  the  Most  High  Almighty, 

"  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  cup,  and  poured  of  the  blood  of  the 
grape,  he  poured  out  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  a  sweet-smelling  savor  imto 
the  iMost  High  King  of  all. 

"  Tlien  shouted  the  sons  of  Aaron,  and  sounded  the  silver  trumpets, 
and  made  a  great  noise  to  be  heard,  for  a  remembrance  before  the  Most 
High. 

"  Then  aU  the  people  together  hasted,  and  fell  down  to  the  earth  upon 
their  faces  to  worship  their  Lord  God  Almighty,  the  Most  High. 

"  The  singers  also  sang  praises  with  their  voices,  with  great  variety  of 
sounds  was  there  made  sweet  melody. 

"  And  the  people  besought  the  Lord,  the  Most  High,  by  prayer  before 
Him  that  is  merciful,  till  the  solemnity  of  the  Lord  was  ended,  and  they 
had  finished  His  service. 

"  Then  he  went  down,  and  Ufted  up  his  hands  over  the  whole  congrega- 
tion of  the  children  of  Israel,  to  give  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  with  his 
lips,  and  to  rejoice  in  His  name. 

"  And  they  bowed  themselves  down  to  worship  the  second  time,  that 
they  might  receive  a  blessing  from  the  Most  High."* 

Such  was  the  gorgeous  and  impressive  ceremonial  of  the 
Jewish  Temple.  And  should  all  this  give  way  to  the  simple 
and  severe  worship  of  the  Christian  Church  ?  Should  Jerusa- 
lem cease  to  be  the  glory  of  the  whole  earth  and  "  the  place 
where  men  ought  to  worship/'  but  the  proclamation  go  forth, 
that  in  any  place  "  the  true  worshippers  might  worship  the 
Father   in  Spirit  and  in  truth?"     Why,  the    very  thought 


*  Ecclesiasticus,  i.  6-21. 


JUDAISM.  49 


awakened  the  deadly  hostility  of  the  Jew,  and  he  felt  that  a 
contest  with  Christianity  was  a  struggle  for  all  his  nation  had 
prized  through  almost  countless  centuries. 

And  these  sacred  and  venerable  rites  were  also  entwined 
with  the  daily  life  of  the  Hebrews.  They  marked  the  seasons 
of  the  year  and  the  dates  of  events  oy  rehgious  feasts  and 
fasts.  They  watched  the  sun  set  which  brought  the  Sabbath 
to  all  their  habitations — the  new  moon,  that  they  might  hold 
its  solemn  celebration — and  the  earliest  star,  which  told  them  it 
was  lawful  to  break  their  penitential  fast.  Rehgion  with  them 
was  not  a  thing  to  be  easily  put  off,  or  another  system  to  be 
substituted  in  its  place,  but  it  was  a  part  of  their  very  being. 
By  the  miraculous  interposition  of  Providence  the  laws  of  the 
people  constituted  their  religion.  The  world  has  never  wit- 
nessed the  alliance  between  Church  and  State  so  closely  ce- 
mented as  among  the  religious  Hebrews,  or  any  system  which 
so  pressed  upon  every  step  in  life  as  the  Mosaic  code.  "  Eve- 
rywhere and  at  all  hours,  was.  their  law,  or  some  symbol  of 
their  law,  hke  the  works  of  the  Deity,  kept  in  their  sight.  It 
was  variously  worn  on  their  persons ;  it  was  nailed  to  the 
doorposts  of  their  habitations  ;  it  formed  their  daily  occupa- 
tions in  the  morning,  the  noon,  and  the  evening  sacrifice.  All 
Nature  was  consecrated  to  Religion  :  for  the  first-fruits,  a  por- 
tion of  the  harvests  and  certain  animals,  were  dedicated  to  its 
service.  Judaism  was  in  their  fields,  in  the  unmixed  seed,  and 
the  ungrafted  fruit ;  in  the  ablution  of  the  stream,  and  in  the 
separation  of  the  pure  from  the  impure.     Their  great  festivals 

6 


50  JUDAISM. 


were  connected  with  the  productions  of  every  season.  The 
Passover  could  not  be  kept  till  their  flocks  furnished  the  pas- 
chal lamb ;  the  Pentecost,  till  the  wheat  had  ripened  for  the 
fresh  loaves  of  propitiation ;  and  the  thick  boughs  and  branches 
could  not  cover  their  tabernacles  till  they  had  gathered  in 
their  vineyards  and  their  olive-grounds.  The  Israelites  were 
reminded  of  their  religious  festivals  by  the  hving  commemora- 
tions of  nature.  The  whole  earth  became  one  vast  syna- 
gogue."* 

We  can  easily  therefore  imagine,  how  entirely  the  Jew  must 
have  changed  his  nature  when  all  this  was  renounced,  and  he 
turned  from  the  countless  associations  of  his  former  life  to  be- 
gin a  new  existence.  Even  among  those  who  had  received  the 
new  faith  we  find  the  same  spirit  prevailing.  They  endeavored 
to  impose  upon  the  Gentile  converts  the  countless  provisions 
of  the  Mosaic  law,  and  to  make  Christianity  but  a  wider  form 
of  Judaism.  The  conflict  went  on  during  the  whole  Apostolic 
age,  nor  ceased  until  by  the  gj'adual  extension  of  the  Church, 
the  converts  from  the  Synagogue  became  an  insignificant 
minority.  We  trace  this  contest  through  all  the  Epistles, 
particularly  those  to  the  churches  in  Rome  and  Galatia,  for 
there  were  none  against  whom  St.  Paul  was  so  often  obliged 
to  warn  his  converts  as  against  the  Judaizing  Christians.  "  But 
now,"  he  inquires,  "after  that  ye  have  known  God,  or  rather 
are  known  of  God,  how  turn  ye  again  to  the  weak  and  beggarly 

*  D'lsraeUs  Genius  of  Judaism^  p.  22. 


JUDAISM.  51 


elements,  whereunto  ye  desire  to  be  agam  in  bondage  ?  Ye 
observe  days  and  months,  and  times  and  years.  I  am  afraid 
of  you,  lest  I  have  bestowed  upon  you  labor  in  vain."*  They 
could  not  divest  themselves  of  feelings  which  they  had  imbibed 
with  the  very  air  they  breathed.  They  could  not  learn  to 
sympathize  with  the  expanded  spirit  of  a  faith,  which  scorned 
to  be  narrowed  down  to  a  single  temple  for  its  worship,  but 
claimecT  as  its  sanctuary,  the  wide  earth  and  Heaven.  And  if 
such  continued  often  to  be  the  feeling  of  the  Jewish  converts, 
we  can  imagine  how  stem  must  have  been  the  spirit  of  hos- 
tility with  which  the  unchanged  Israehte  met  the  claims  of  our 
religion,  and  how  unyielding  the  prejudice  with  which  he  drew 
around  him  the  narrow  hne  of  demarcation,  and  restricted  the 
divine  blessings  to  his  own  visible  pale. 

There  was  one  more  consideration  which,  more  than  any 
thing  else,  tended  to  array  the  Jews  against  the  reception  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth.  We  refer  to  the  preconceived  notions  of 
the  Messiah  which  they  had  adopted.  A  kingly  government, 
which  is  perceived  and  felt,  alone  suits  the  genius  of  the  East. 
The  climate  which  dissolves  the  energy  of  the  heart,  and  the 
indolence  which  loves  to  gaze  on  the  pageantry  of  a  show,  have 
rendered  the  Orientals  prone  to  look  on  an  earthly  king  with 
a  sort  of  idolatry.  Their  vanity  is  gratified  by  his  pomp,  and 
then-  pride  by  his  power.f 

And  this  was  peculiarly  the  case  with  the  Jews.     Even  in 

*  Oal.  iv.  9.  t  ly Israeli's  Genius  of  Judaism,  p.  44. 


52  JUDAISM. 


the  days  of  their  theocracy  they  were  sighing  for  a  king. 
Their  inspired  Lawgiver  perceived  that  this  Avould  be  the  case — 
that  even  his  perfect  government  would  weary  their  incon- 
stancy, and  their  passions  corrupt  its  divine  institution — and, 
with  prescient  wisdom,  therefore,  he  hmited  the  power  to  be 
intrusted  to  the  hands  of  royalty.  And  the  same  feelings  col- 
ored all  their  hopes  when  they  looked  forward  to  the  promised 
Messiah.  They  were  too  earthly  and  sensual  to  conceive  of 
that  mysterious  Being  as  only  a  spiritual  reformer.  The  bright- 
est pictures  the  Greek  poets  have  drawn  of  their  golden  age, 
fade  into  dimness  before  the  incoherent  and  dazzling  images 
which  teemed  in  the  imagination  of  the  Jew,  when  he  thought 
of  the  monarch  who  was  expected  to  sit  on  the  throne  of  Da- 
vid. To  this  the  gorgeous  visions  of  Isaiah  had  contributed  to 
form  their  minds.  There,  He  was  arrayed  before  them  as  a 
mighty  conqueror,  travelling  in  the  greatness  of  His  strength, 
treading  down  His  enemies  in  His  anger,  and  trampling  them 
in  His  fury — their  blood  sprinkled  upon  His  garments,  and 
staining  all  His  raiment.  And  this  harmonized  too  well  with 
that  brooding  hope  of  vengeance  on  their  oppressors  which 
was  moulded  up  in  the  heart  of  every  Jew,  and  quickened  into 
life  by  their  religious  fanaticism,  to  render  them  able  to  think  of 
their  Dehverer  in  any  more  peaceful  character.  We  trace  in  the 
history  of  Josephus  the  existence  of  this  feeling  in  his  country- 
men. Though  writing  when  Judea  had  been  crushed  to  the 
earth,  and  the  futility  of  these  visions  shown,  he  endeavors  to 
prove  the  fulfilment  of  these  prophecies  in  the  regal  govern- 


JUDAISM.  53 


ment  of  his  master  Vespasian.  In  the  whole  current,  too,  of 
Jewish  tradition — and  in  the  later  ages  of  their  existence  as  a 
state,  they  listened  to  its  voice  as  reverently  as  to  the  written 
word — every  thing  about  the  Great  Deliverer  was  national  and 
exclusive.  The  Holy  City  was  to  be  the  centre  of  His  govern- 
ment, and  there  He  was  to  reassemble  all  the  scattered  de- 
scendants of  the  tribes,  and  expel  their  barbarous  and  foreign  ru- 
lers. From  the  shores  of  the  Nile — from  the  cities  of  Greece — 
from  the  crowded  streets  of  Imperial  Rome — from  the  banks  of 
the  Euphrates,  where  their  fathers  left  them  in  exile — the 
spoiled  and  despised  Israelites,  everywhere  the  victims  of  infi- 
del insult,  were  to  come  forth,  and  gathering  around  the  City 
of  Holiness,  behold  at  their  head  a  king  who  should  proclaim, 
that  "  the  day  of  vengeance  was  in  His  heart,  and  the  year  of 
His  redeemed  had  come." 

It  is  curious,  indeed,  to  take  each  rank  and  sect  which 
existed  among  the  Jews  in  the  first  age  of  the  Christian  era, 
and  see  how,  from  the  tenets  of  each,  we  can  gather  the  at- 
tributes in  which  it  naturally  arrayed  the  Messiah.  Their  en- 
thusiasm was  colored  by  their  peculiar  temperament,  and  while 
all  looked  to  the  gorgeous  language  of  ancient  prophecy,  each 
dwelt  only  upon  that  particular  portion  which  was  most  in  ac- 
cordance with  its  tastes,  and  therefore  the  view  of  each  was 
equally  partial  and  erroneous.  The  Herodians  regarded  Herod 
Antipas  as  the  anointed  saviour  of  his  country — the  one  destined 
to  drive  the  Gentile  from  her  borders,  and  raise  Jerusalem  from 
her  sackcloth  and  ashes  to  her  ancient  pinnacle  of  renown. 

6* 


54  JUDAISM. 


They  felt  that  "the  set  time  had  come"  and  the  times  of 
prophecy  been  fulfilled,  but  they  needed  a  prince  to  accom- 
pUsh  all  that  had  been  foretold.  Where  then,  they  inquired, 
can  we  find  him  but  in  Herod,  powerful  and  wise,  connected 
with  the  blood  of  our  ancient  kings,*  and  already  wielding  a 
formidable  power?  To  political  views  they  had  sacrificed 
many  of  the  inveterate  prejudices  of  their  nation,  and  even 
admitted  some  of  those  Grecian  habits  which  the  stricter  por- 
tion of  their  people  most  religiously  avoided.  They,  therefore, 
could  recognise  no  lineament  of  the  Messiah  in  the  peasant 
prophet  of  Nazareth. 

With  the  Pharisee,  He  was  to  be  "a  prophet  like  imto 
Moses,"  to  restore,  with  greater  strictness,  the  ceremonial  code 
of  their  great  Lawgiver,  and  bring  all  mankind  under  "  a  yoke 
which  neither  their  fathers  nor  they  were  able  to  bear."  The 
pure  and  spiritual  glimpses,  too,  of  the  future  state,  which  we 
can  gather  from  the  discourses  of  our  Lord,  must,  in  that  day, 
have  been  at  utter  variance  with  the  sensual  views  of  the  Rab- 
binical writers,  which  more  resembled  the  Elysium  of  the 
Greeks  than  the  Paradise  of  Revelation.  Josephus  was  a 
Pharisee,  and  if  he  is  to  be  taken  as  a  type  of  his  sect,  we  can 
readily  see  how  one  who  could  address  to  his  countrymen  the 
unspiritual  view  of  the  life  to  come  which  he  has  given — a 


*  The  father  of  Herod  had  married  Mariamne,  daughter  of  Hircanus, 
the  last  of  the  family  of  the  Asmoneans  or  Maccabees.  Herod  himself 
was  at  this  time  married  to  Herodias,  of  the  same  family. 


JUDAISM.  65 


view  incorporating  even  the  doctrine  of  a  Metempsychosis* — 
must  have  shrunk  from  a  faith  so  unearthly  as  that  announced 
by  Him  who  claimed  to  be  the  promised  Dehverer.  The  Sad- 
ducee,  on  the  contrary,  abandoning  as  innovations  much  to 
which  the  Pharisee  clung,  looked  upon  the  notion  of  a  spiritual 
Messiah  as  a  mere  delusion,  while  he  agreed  as  httle  as  his 
antagonist  in  our  Lord's  view  of  the  future  state.     He  had 


*  "  Their  souls  are  pure  and  obedient,  and  obtain  a  most  holy  place  in 
heaven,  from  whence,  in  the  revolution  of  ages,  they  are  again  sent  into 
pure  bodies," —  Wars,  lib.  iii.  ck  ix,  5.  The  Pharisees  had  undoubtedly 
imbibed  many  notions  which  had  their  origin  on  the  banks  of  the  Wile. 
They  despised,  indeed,  the  learning  of  Greece,  but  had  not  the  same  an- 
tipathy to  that  of  Egypt,  for  they  had  the  example  of  Moses,  who  was 
"  learned  in  all  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians."  They  had  adopted  the 
Pythagorean  doctrine,  that  when  the  soul  had  left  the  body,  it  did  not 
die,  but  transmigrating  to  some  other  body,  through  a  succession  of  re- 
movals, lived  to  infinity.  Even  the  disciples  of  our  Lord  were  infected 
with  this  error,  as  they  showed  by  their  question  with  regard  to  the  blind 
man,  "  Master,  who  did  sin,  this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  bom 
blind  ?"  (John,  ix.  2.)  This  question  supposes  a  state  of  pre-existence — 
that  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  sin  before  he  was  bom ;  that  is,  that  his 
soul  had  sinned  in  some  other  body,  and  this  blindness  was  an  expiatiog 
pimishment,  which  must  be  endured  for  the  soul's  sake. 

Basnage  thus  truly  traces  the  origin  of  these  views : — "  La  Religion 
Judaique  commen9a  de  s'alt^rer  par  le  commerce  qu'on  eut  avec  les 
etrangers  ;  ce  commerce  fut  beaucoup  plus  frequent  depuis  les  conqu^tes 
d' Alexandre  qu'il  n'etoit  auparavant,  et  ce  fut  particuliferement  avec  les 
Egyptiens  qu'on  se  lia,  surtout  pendant  que  les  Rois  d'Egypte  fiu-ent 
maltres  de  la  Judee,  qu'ils  y  firent  des  voyages  et  des  expeditions,  et 
qu'ils  en  transportferent  les  habitans.  On  n'emprunta  pas  des  Egyptiens 
leurs  idoles,  mais  leur  m^thode  de  traiter  la  theologie  et  la  religion ;  les 
docteurs  Juifs,  transportes  ou  n6s  en  ce  pays-Ik  se  jett^rent  dans  les  in- 
terpretations allegoriques,"  &c. — Hist,  des  Juifs,  L  il  c.  ix. 


56  JUDAISM. 


shunned  the  fanaticism  of  the  bigot,  only  to  fall  into  the 
dreary  coldness  of  the  skeptic. 

The  nature  of  the  Samaritan  belief  in  the  Messiah  is  more 
obscure  to  us,  and  but  once  in  Scripture— in  the  conversation  of 
our  Lord  with  the  woman  at  the  well — do  we  find  any  allusion 
to  it.  While,  by  the  Jews,  they  were  scorned  as  "  the  foolish 
people  that  dwell  at  Sichem,"*  and  utterly  excluded  from  all 
interest  in  this  Dehverer,  they  themselves  clung  to  the  belief, 
**  We  know  that  the  Messiah  cometh,  which  is  called  Christ : 
when  He  is  come.  He  will  tell  us  all  things. "f  We  should 
suppose,  therefore,  that  when  He  Himself  offered  this  redemp- 
tion for  their  acceptance,  they  would  gladly  have  responded 
to  His  call.  Yet  their  views  on  this  subject  were  "adulterated 
with  profane  mixtures  of  Pagan  errors;" J  and  the  success  of 
Simon  Magus,  §  Menander,  and  other  later  teachers,  who  incul- 
cated the  Oriental  heresies,  shows  that  their  conceptions  of  the 
Messiah  were  tinged  with  the  Magian  errors  they  had  brought 
with  them  from  Babylon. 

A  single  other  sect  sums  up  the  number  of  those  among 
the  Palestinian  Jews.  We  refer  to  the  Zealots,  who  perhaps 
were  most  violent  of  all  in  their  opposition  to  the  reign  of  a 


*  "  There  be  two  manner  of  nations  which  my  heart  abhorreth,  and  the 
third  is  no  nation.  They  that  sit  upon  the  mountain  of  Samaria,  and 
they  that  dwell  among  the  Philistines,  and  that  foolish  people  that  dwell 
at  Sichem." — Ecclesiast.  i  25,  26. 

f  John,  iv.  25. 

X  Mosheim's  Ecclesiast.  Hist.  v.  i.  p.  46.  §  Acts,  viii.  9. 


JUDAISM.  57 


peaceful  Deliverer,  and  whose  influence  was  most  deeply  felt 
as  clouds  darkly  gathered  around  the  closing  days  of  Judea. 
The  principles  they  avowed  had  been  inherited  from  Judas,  the 
Galilean,  who,  in  bold  yet  eloquent  language,  had  proclaimed 
the  doctrine,  that  submission  to  a  foreign  yoke  was  treason 
against  the  Jewish  theocracy.  They  refused,  therefore,  the 
payment  of  tribute  to  Caesar,  and  rejected  as  impiety  every 
other  badge  of  subordination  to  Rome.*  It  was  an  attempt  to 
revive  that  war-cry,  "  No  other  Lord  and  Master  but  God  1" 
which  once  had  rallied  the  whole  nation  under  the  banner  of 
the  Maccabees  against  their  Syro- Grecian  kings,  and  trium- 
phantly wrested  from  them  the  independence  of  Judea.  The 
same  spirit  had  hved  on  in  secret,  and  fomented  the  resistance 
which  at  times  was  arrayed  against  the  Idumean  dynasty. 
And  now,  when  the  sceptre  seemed  entirely  departing  from 
Judah,  and,  in  desperation,  the  more  violent  of  the  people 
looked  around  for  some  weapon  with  which  to  meet  their  foe, 
they  eagerly  rushed  forward  to  enroll  themselves  among  the 
followers  of  Judas,  and  to  swell  the  ranks  of  the  Zealots.  In 
the  days  of  our  Lord  this  feeling  seemed  to  infuse  a  degree  of 
religious  enthusiasm  into  every  struggle  against  then*  invaders. 
The  robber  chieftain  joined  in  each  desperate  foray  against  the 
Roman  legionaries  in  the  same  spirit  with  which,  in  later  ages, 
the  Crusaders  warred  against  the  Infidel.  He  looked  out  daily 
for  that  resistless  Conqueror  whom  he  literally  expected  to  see 

*  Basnage,  Histoire  des  Juifs,  b.  L  c.  1*7. 


58  JUDAISM. 


"  coming  from  Edom  with  dyed  garments  from  Bozrah,"  the 
leader  of  innumerable  hosts,  His  arm  nerved  with  the  power  of 
the  Omnipotent,  unfurling  His  blood-red  banner  to  repeat,  on  a 
nobler  scale,  those  triumphs  which  were  still  sung  through 
every  household  in  the  land.  These  doctrines  accorded  with 
that  wild  fanaticism  of  Jewish  character,  which  was  nurtured 
by  the  remembrance  of  Ehud  and  Gideon,  Deborah  and  Barak 
the  son  of  Abinoam ;  and  thus  was  propagated  that  fiery 
spirit  of  resistance  which  at  last  arrayed  them  in  deadly  con- 
flict with  the  crushing  power  of  Rome,  and  ended  in  the  utter 
subversion  of  their  state. 

Such  were  the  sects  which  divided  among  themselves  the 
Jewish  populace.  These  were  the  lessons  taught  in  the  syna- 
gogue and  the  schools,  or  preached  by  zealous  emissaries 
through  the  retired  villages  of  Judea,  till  an  intense  expecta- 
tion seemed  to  have  absorbed  the  minds  of  all  men.  Each  sect 
had  its  system,  but  the  people  gathered  from  each  what  was 
most  striking,  and  often  most  violent,  and  thus  was  moulded  up 
the  popular  creed  with  regard  to  the  Messiah.  Yet  how  fatal 
was  all  this  to  the  training  of  meek  and  peaceful  hearts  to  re- 
ceive Him  who  was  to  come  as  the  Prince  of  Peace  ! 

But  this  sketch  would  be  incomplete,  did  it  not  include  some 
notice  of  those  extensive  communities  of  Jews  in  Babylon  and 
Egypt,  who  had  each  their  separate  schools  of  doctrine,  so 
plainly  colored  by  the  faith  of  the  land  in  which  their  lot  was 
cast.  The  termination  of  the  seventy  years  captivity  had  not 
found  all  the  banished  Jews  ready  to  return  to  their  own  land. 


JUDAISM.  59 


There  were  many  to  whom  the  rivers  of  Babylon  were  pleas- 
ant, and  they  would  not  accept  the  invitations  of  Ezra  and 
Nehemiah  to  build  up  again  the  fallen  cities  of  Judea.  There 
they  remained  in  the  land  to  which  then-  fathers  came  in 
sorrow ;  and,  in  after  ages,  when  a  crowded  population  in- 
duced the  Jews  of  Palestine  once  more  to  emigrate,  many 
joined  their  brethren  on  the  Euphrates,  so  that  the  Meso- 
potamian  colony  swelled  into  strength  and  importance.  Here 
was  devised  the  Mystic  Cabala — here,  when  Jerusalem  was 
destroyed,  the  Prince  of  the  Captivity  held  the  seat  of  his 
power — and  here  arose  those  famous  schools  whose  wisdom 
has  been  handed  down  to  us  embodied  in  the  Babylonian 
Talmud.  But  with  them,  many  pecuharities  of  the  faith  of 
Zoroaster  had  become  incorporated  with  the  doctrines  of  Ju- 
daism. While  they  looked  forward  to  the  coming  of  the 
Messiah,  they  did  so  in  the  spirit  with  which  the  Magian  waited 
the  final  triumph  of  Ormusd.  In  the  same  worldly  sph-it,  too, 
of  their  countrymen  in  Judea,  they  expected  One  who  should 
spread  the  bounds  of  His  empire  wider  than  the  sway  of  Solo- 
mon, so  that  even  they  in  the  far  East,  no  longer  regarded  as 
exiles,  should  be  as  much  His  subjects  as  they  who  dwelt  at 
the  foot  of  Mount  Moriah. 

Far  different  from  this  had  been  the  training  of  the  Western 
Jews,  who,  under  the  favor  of  Ptolemy,  had  settled  at  Alex- 
andria, and  whose  temple  in  Leontopohs  was  intended  to  be  an 
exact  copy  of  that  on  Mount  Zion.  Instead  of  the  fantastic 
yet  poetical  dreams  of  Orientalism,  they  had  been  subjected  to 


60  JUDAISM. 


the  more  intellectual  influence  of  Grecian  philosophy.  It  was 
a  form  of  Platonism,  tinged,  perhaps,  with  a  more  mystic 
character  than  it  displayed  in  its  home  at  Athens,  but  which 
left  ample  room  for  the  imagination,  and  accorded  well 
with  that  spirit  of  Egypto-Jewish  theology  which  reduced  the 
history  of  the  chosen  people  to  a  mere  moral  allegory.  Its 
tendency,  therefore,  was  rationalistic,  and  the  Pharisee  of  Jeru- 
salem looked  upon  the  Aramaean  Jew  of  Alexandria  with  as 
little  favor  as  he  did  upon  the  Sadducee.  Yet  amid  all  their 
errors,  we  find  substantially  the  same  views  of  the  Messiah 
which  were  held  by  their  brethren  in  Asia.  They  can  be 
gathered  from  the  mysticism  of  Philo,  when,  amid  his  philo- 
sophical flights,  we  find  ever  floating  before  his  imagination  the 
picture  of  a  golden  period,  when  the  Jews  were  to  be  the 
great  teachers  of  the  world,  and  all  submit  to  the  Mosaic  in- 
stitutes. Then  the  Deliverer,  "a  more  than  human  being, 
unseen  to  all  eyes  but  those  of  the  favored  nation,"  was  to 
reign,  and  all  the  blessings  predicted  in  prophecy  were  to  be 
poured  out  upon  the  chosen  people  as  they  were  united  once 
more  in  their  own  land.*  Something  of  this  also  may  be 
traced  in  "the  Wisdom  of  Solomon,"  a  book,  from  its  allusions 
to  Grecian  writers  and  the  acquaintance  with  the  works  of 
Plato  which  its  author  evinces,  evidently  the  production  of  an 
Alexandrian  Jew.  There  the  most  glorious  promises  are  re- 
peated to  the  faithful  Jews.     Their  lot  it  should  be  to  "judge 

*  MilmarCs  Hist,  of  Christianity,  v.  1.  p.  42. 


JUDAISM. 


the  nations,"  and  "have  dominion  over  the 
reward  should  be  to  **  receive  a  glorious  kingdom."*  It  is 
evidently  the  conception  of  a  temporal  sovereignty  to  which 
he  is  looking  forward.  And  we  can  see  the  same  idea  strug- 
gling in  the  mind  of  every  Jew — whether  the  Palestinian,  the 
Alexandrian,  or  the  Hellenist.  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
peculiar  tenets  of  each,  in  some  form  we  can  detect  his  belief 
in  the  coming  of  a  conquering  Messiah. 

We  think,  indeed,  that  the  prevalence  of  this  popular  feeling 
pervades  even  the  Magnificat — ^that  song  of  thanksgiving  which 
the  Virgin  uttered  when  visited  by  her  cousin  Elizabeth.  We 
find  no  allusion  to  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  Messiah's  king- 
dom— ^nothing  which  partakes  of  a  Christian  tone,  or  looks 
forward  with  joy  to  the  redemption  to  be  wrought  out.  It  is 
the  proud  triumph  of  a  Jewish  woman  that  the  time  of  dehver- 
ance  to  her  land  had  come,  and  the  fallen  family  of  David  was 
once  more  to  be  raised  above  the  mighty  who  had  usurped 
their  place.  "  He  hath  showed  strength  with  His  arm  ;  He 
hath  scattered  the  proud  in  the  imagination  of  their  hearts. 
He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats,  and  ex- 
alted them  of  low  degree.  He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with' 
good  things ;  and  the  rich  He  hath  sent  empty  away.  He 
hath  holpen  His  servant  Israel,  in  remembrance  of  His 
mercy. "f  Every  thing  here  is  national  and  exclusive,  partaking 
more  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  Dispensation  than  of  the  new. 

*  Wisdom,  ill.  8.  v.  16.  f  Luke,  i.  51-54. 


62  JUDAISM. 


It  is  an  anthem  which  Miriam  or  Deborah  might  have  uttered, 
in  the  hour  of  Israel's  victory  over  their  enemies.  And  so,  too, 
it  was,  when  Zacharias  spake  at  the  cu*cumcision  of  his  son. 
If  at  the  conclusion  his  song  rises  to  higher  spiritual  views, 
and  he  speaks  of  "  remission  of  sins,"  and  "  a  light  to  them 
which  sit  in  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death,"  yet  his  first 
thought  is  of  Israel — "  Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel :  for 
He  hath  visited  and  redeemed  His  people,  and  hath  raised  up 
a  horn  of  salvation  for  us  in  the  house  of  His  servant  David." 
The  first  object  he  states  of  the  Messiah's  coming  is,  "  That 
we  should  be  saved  from  our  enemies,  and  from  the  hand  of  all 
that  hate  us.  That  He  would  grant  unto  us  that  we  being 
delivered  out  of  the  hand  of  our  enemies,  might  serve  Him 
without  fear."*  We  cannot  but  feel  how  strongly  this  con- 
trasts with  the  expanded  and  beautiful  character  of  our  faith, 
as  first  proclaimed  in  the  angel's  song,  "  Glory  to  God,  Peace 
on  earth  and  good-will  towards  men." 

There  may,  indeed,  among  the  many  thousands  of  Israel, 
have  been,  here  and  there,  a  more  spiritual  mind,  which  looked 
beyond  the  veil  of  types,  and  could  recognise,  in  the  imagery 
of  the  prophets,  the  delineation  of  One,  whose  glory  it  should 
be  "  to  preach  good  tidings  unto  the  meek,  and  to  bind  up  the 
broken-hearted, "f  but  they  were  too  few  to  act  on  the  tone  of 
public  sentiment.  No  considerable  body — except  it  may  have 
been  the  Essenes — seem  ever  to  have  dwelt  on  the  peaceful 

*  LiiTce,  i.  68,  69,  '71,  '74,  f  Isaiah,  bd.  1. 


JUDAISM.  63 


images  of  the  prophets,  or  to  have  expected  the  accomplish- 
ment of  any  thing  but  their  own  visions  of  conquest  and  glory. 
The  very  depression  under  which  they  were  at  this  time  groan- 
ing, made  them  look  with  greater  certainty  for  the  commg  of 
that  mysterious  Deliverer,  who  was  to  restore  all  things. 
"  The  sceptre  had  departed  from  Judah,"  and  it  was  therefore 
time  that  "  Shiloh  shojdd  come."  That,  too,  was  to  be  "  the 
great  and  terrible  day  of  the  Lord,"*  and  tradition  declared, 
that  dark  and  fearful  should  be  the  trials  which  gathered 
around  Israel,  and  severe  the  ordeal  through  which  they  were 
to  pass,  before  the  time  of  their  deliverance  came,  and  their 
foot  was  to  be  placed  upon  the  neck  of  their  enemies.  And  now, 
when  the  beaten  slave  of  the  heathen,  and  convulsed  by  the 
very  impotency  of  his  rage,  the  Jew  asked,  whether  these 
were  not  the  dark  sorrows  which  were  to  precede  the  hght, 
and  strained  his  eyes  forward,  chiding  the  tardiness  with 
which  the  future  glory  came. 

On  the  shores  of  the  Jordan,  too,  a  prophet  had  already 
distinctly  announced,  that  "  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  was  at 
hand,"  and  there  was  often  much  in  the  language  of  the  Bap- 
tist which  admitted  of  an  interpretation  confirming  their  view 
of  the  Messiah's  character.  "  His  fan  is  in  His  hand,  and  He 
will  thoroughly  purge  His  floor,  and  gather  His  wheat  into  the 
gamer;  but  He  will  burn  up  the  chaff  with  unquenchable 
fire."f  And  who  were  the  precious  "  wheat"  to  be  "  ga- 
^ ^ 


Joel,  ii.  11.  f  Matt.  iii.  12. 


64  JUDAISM. 


thered  into  the  garner,"  but  Israel — the  elect  people — the 
sons  of  God  by  the  very  prerogative  of  their  birth  ?  And 
who  were  "  the  chaff"  destined  to  "  unquenchable  fire,"  but 
the  hated  Gentiles,  who  were  to  be  thrust  down  to  hell  ? 
They  were  to  share  the  fate  of  the  Amorite,  the  Hittite,  and 
the  Perizzite.  The  Roman  and  the  Greek  were  to  be  to  the 
Jews  what  the  idolatrous  Canaanite^was  to  their  fathers. 
They  were  to  be  driven  from  the  land  where  their  presence 
was  as  blasting  and  mildew.  All,  therefore,  however  they 
might  differ  in  other  respects,  anticipated  the  coming  of  a 
Deliverer,  who  should  make  Israel  inheritor  of  a  kingdom,  and 
sit  in  solemn  judgment  upon  their  mighty  enemies.  And  as 
the  time  drew  nigh,  it  seemed  as  if  the  exactions  of  their 
foreign  enemies  became  more  frequent  and  intolerable,  and  their 
tyranny  maddened  the  people  beyond  endurance.  Is  it  wonder- 
ful, then,  that  they  writhed  under  that  chain  which  had  bound 
them  down  to  the  earth — that  each  lip  muttered  conspiracy — 
that  each  eye  was  turned,  as  the  only  hope,  to  a  temporal 
Deliverer — while  every  peaceful  image  and  every  spiritual  view 
of  His  character  was  lost  in  their  intense  desire  for  that  ven- 
geance which  they  thought  the  future  held  out  ?  Never,  prob- 
ably, during  the  existence  of  the  Jewish  state,  were  its  people 
so  httle  prepared  to  welcome  a  peaceful  Messiah  as  in  the  very 
age  of  His  advent. 

At  length  He  came,  and  how  were  these  high-raised  hopes 
fulfilled  ?  No  visih|p  glory  heralded  His  approach — no  king 
arrived  "to   reign   in   Mount   Zion,   and   in   Jerusalem,   and 


JUDAISM.  65 


before  his  ancients  gloriously."*  The  true-hearted  were  sum- 
moned to  a  stable,  and  in  a  feeble  wailing  infant  in  a  manger, 
they  were  to  recognise  the  long-expected  Messiah.  We  look 
back,  indeed,  through  the  vista  of  eighteen  centuries,  and  it 
seems  to  us  as  if  wonders  waited  on  His  birth.  Yet  the 
angel's  song  was  only  uttered  among  the  silent  pastures,  and 
before  the  lowlyshepherds,  who  watched  their  flocks  by  night — 
the  wise  men  of  the  East  departed  as  suddenly  and  as  mys- 
teriously as  they  had  come — and  few  probably  listened  to  the 
prophetic  words  of  Simeon  and  Anna,  while  fewer  still  under- 
stood their  solemn  import.  **  The  Eongdom  of  God  came  not 
with  observation." 

•^  "  Thou  didst  come, 

0  Holiest !  to  this  world  of  sin  and  gloom, 
Not  in  Thy  dread  omnipotent  array ; 

And  not  by  thunder  streVd 

Was  Thy  tempestuous  road ; 
Not  indignation  burn'd  before  Thee  on  Thy  way. 
But  Thee  a  soft  and  naked  child, 
Thy  mother  imdefiled, 
In  the  rude  manger  laid  to  rest. 
From  off  her  virgin  breast. 

The  heavens  were  not  commanded  to  prepare 

A  gorgeous  canopy  of  golden  air, 

Nor  stoop'd  their  lamps  th'  enthroned  fires  on  high  ; 

A  single  silent  star 

Came  wandering  from  afar, 
Ghding  imcheck'd  and  calm  along  the  Uquid  sky ; 


*  Isaiah,  xxiv.  23. 
6* 


66  JUDAISM. 


The  Eastern  sages  leading  on 
As  at  a  kingly  throne, 
To  lay  their  gold  and  odors  sweet 
Before  Thy  infant  feet. 

The  earth  and  ocean  were  not  hush'd  to  hear 
Bright  harmony  from  every  starry  sphere ; 
Nor  at  Thy  presence  brake  the  voice  of  song 

From  all  the  cherub  choirs, 

And  seraphs'  burning  lyres, 
Pour'd  through  the  host  of  Heaven  the  charmed  clouds  along ; 
One  angel  troop  the  strain  began, 
Of  all  the  race  of  man, 
By  simple  shepherds  heard  alone 
That  soft  Hosanna's  tone."* 

It  was,  too,  in  a  season  of  intense  national  excitement — ^in 
the  very  agony  of  that  crisis  on  which  their  fiiture  destiny 
seemed  to  be  resting.  The  days  of  Herod  the  Great  were 
drawing  to  their  close,  and  the  clouds  which  had  gathered 
around  his  stormy  path  appeared  now  to  have  deepened,  until 
even  his  mind  was  darkened  into  savage  insanity.  All  ties  of 
natural  affection  were  obliterated.  His  own  children  were 
condemned  to  the  scaffold — the  noblest  blood  in  Judea  was 
recklessly  shed — and  as  the  last  fragments  of  life  were  slipping 
from  his  grasp,  the  heads  of  all  the  influential  families  in  Jeru- 
salem were  assembled  in  the  Hippodrome,  that  the  hour  of  his 
death  might  witness  their  execution,  and  thus  no  leaders  be  at 
hand  to  oppose  the  succession  of  his  son.     Amid  such  unpar- 

*  Milman's  "  Fall  of  Jerusalem." 


JUDAISM.  6T 


alleled  horrors  every  individual  trembled  for  his  own  personal 
safety.  Fanaticism,  too,  had  risen  to  its  height,  and  the  great 
parties  which  divided  the  people  were  standing  ready  at  the 
slightest  signal  to  meet  in  deadly  conflict.  Every  mind,  there- 
fore, was  wrought  up  to  the  most  feverish  anxiety.  What  im- 
pression, then,  could  be  produced  by  the  birth  of  an  humble 
infant  ?  The  strange  story  of  the  Magians'  visit,  imperfectly 
known,  would  soon  be  forgotten — the  narrative  of  the  simple 
sheplierds,  if  heard  in  the  courts  of  the  temple,  would  be  re- 
garded as  an  illusion — and  the  predictions  of  Simeon  and  Anna 
be  pronounced  the  mere  drivelhng  of  age.  In  addition  to  this, 
the  immediate  disappearance  of  our  Lord,  and  the  obscurity  in 
which  He  lived  for  thirty  years,  must  have  quenched  th"e  hopes 
of  any  of  the  more  sanguine  or  better  informed. 

And  when  the  years  of  His  retirement  were  over,  and  He 
came  forth  to  act  as  the  Herald  of  His  own  Gospel,  who  was 
the  Messiah  offered  to  their  worship  ?  A  peasant  of  Galilee — 
the  companion  of  fishermen,  publicans,  and  sinners — "  a  man 
of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief" — without  being  invested 
with  a  single  attribute  of  that  pomp  in  which  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  array  Him.  And  not  even  the  beauty  of  His 
precepts — the  holiness  which  pervaded  all  He  uttered— or  even 
the  mu-aculous  power  which  He  wielded — could  reconcile  them 
to  His  lowly  station.  He  came,  too,  in  a  spirit  of  philanthropy 
which  offered  the  most  striking  contrast  to  the  bitterness  of 
Jewish  prejudice.  Every  word  He  spoke  must  have  jarred 
with  the  harshest  discord  on  the  popular  ear.     Imagine  Him 


I 


68  JUDAISM. 


preaching  to  His  infuriated  countrymen  the  doctrine  of  for- 
giveness, and  as  the  train  of  their  hated  conquerors  swept  by, 
proclaiming  the  duty,  "love  your  enemies."  How  deeply 
would  it  sink  into  the  hearts  of  His  audience  ?  The  answer 
would  be  a  scowl  of  undying  hate,  and  every  quivering  lip 
would  utter  forth  the  national  curse,  "  Gehenna."  They  had 
no  sympathy  with  a  universal  Saviour  whose  beneficence  was 
to  embrace  the  whole  human  race.  They  were  startled,  when 
in  opposition  to  the  violent  antipathy  of  the  Jews,  our  Lord 
talked  with  the  woman  of  Samaria  at  the  well,  and  still  more 
so,  when  He  healed  the  daughter  of  the  Canaanite  mother — 
the  member  of  a  race  which  bore  upon  them  the  seal  of  con- 
demnation. There  was  nothing  about  Him  of  the  warlike  signs 
which  they  expected — nothing  which  spoke  of  the  condemna- 
tion of  Gentile  nations,  or  flattered  the  exclusiveness  of  Jewish 
pride. 

His  kingdom,  too,  was  not  of  this  world  ;  and  a  community 
united  by  spiritual  ties — held  together  by  the  bond  of  a  com- 
mon faith — was  to  them  something  utterly  unintelligible.  It 
had  nothing  about  it  local — nothing  distinctive  of  a  single  race 
or  nation — but  embraced  within  the  grasp  of  its  influence,  man 
wherever  he  could  be  found.  The  despised  Samaritan  was  in- 
vited to  be  "  a  king  and  priest  unto  God ;"  and  in  the  contest 
for  eternal  rewards,  his  might  be  a  nobler  prize  than  any  which 
could  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  proudest  Jew.  It  utterly  set  at  de- 
fiance all  the  grades  and  honors  of  earthly  life.  In  the  awards 
of  the  coming  world,  the  despised  and  down-trodden  Helot 


JUDAISM.  69 


might  inherit  a  brighter  crown  than  that  assigned  to  the  master 
of  Imperial  Rome.  There  was  no  place  for  any  spiritual  aris- 
tocracy— no  reservation  for  those  who  gloried  in  the  lineage  of 
Abraham.  This  faith,  too,  was  equally  adapted  to  every  coun- 
try and  clime.  It  was  to  spread  its  cheering  rays  over  the 
snows  of  the  North,  and  hold  its  cup  of  blessing  to  the  panting 
savage  beneath  the  tropic  beats.  Nothing  could  be  conceived 
more  utterly  opposed  to  the  narrow  spirit  of  Jewish  preju- 
dices. It  was  a  long  time,  indeed,  before  the  Apostles  them- 
selves could  learn  to  look  beyond  the  barriers  which  education 
had  built  up  around  them.  They  were  continually  startled 
by  our  Lord's  revelations — ^wavering  and  fluctuating  in  their 
faith — and  attempting  in  vain  to  reconcile  His  declarations  with 
their  own  deeply-seated  erroneous  views.  We  see  in  every 
action  their  exclusive  Jewish  feelings. 

This,  then,  was  the  field  of  labor  before  our  Lord  when  He 
went  forth  to  inculcate  the  gentle  and  peaceful  doctrines  of  His 
faith,  and  these  were  the  discordant  elements  which  would  be 
arrayed  against  Him.  And  so  the  result  proved.  He  encoun- 
tered at  once  a  fierce  and  turbulent  national  spirit  wrought  up 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  fanaticism,  and  every  word  He  uttered 
clashed  with  the  strongest  prejudices  of  His  audience.  For 
once,  the  proud  Pharisee,  the  lordly  Sadducee,  the  zealot,  the 
hypocrite,  the  bigot,  and  the  skeptic  were  united.  He  spoke 
to  them  of  a  day  bright  beyond  human  splendor — magnificent 
beyond  the  loftiest  conceptions  of  human  thought — but  they 
had  no  sympathy  with  any  thing  that  the  distant  future  should 


'TO  JUDAISM. 


unfold.  Now  was  the  time  of  Judea's  degradation,  and  they 
demanded  that  now  the  glory  should  dawn  upon  them.  He 
displayed  before  them  the  Divine  Goodness  in  human  form, 
but  they,  in  their  inward  wrath  and  despair,  cared  only  for  a 
demonstration  of  the  terrible  and  destructive  attributes  of  the 
Almighty.  They  wished  a  Deliverer  who  should  embody  all 
the  fierce  yearnings  and  national  prejudices  of  Judaism.  It 
was  with  such  revelations  that  the  Old  Testament  had  rendered 
them  familiar,  and  they  looked  for  one,  before  whom — to  adopt 
the  terrible  imagery  of  the  older  prophets — their  enemies,  the 
micircumcised  and  the  accursed,  should  be  broken,  and  scat- 
tered, and  destroyed,  as  the  chaff  before  the  whirlwind,  as  the 
stubble  beneath  the  flail  of  the  thresher,  as  the  fine  dust  be- 
neath the  hoofs  of  the  horses  and  the  wheel  of  the  chariot. 

We  see  how  careful  our  Lord  was  Himself  to  correct  this 
impression,  when  the  mother  of  James  and  John,  dazzled  by 
the  prospect  of  a  temporal  empire,  which  she  expected  soon 
to  be  established,  requested,  that  "  her  two  sons  might  sit,  the 
one  on  His  right  hand  and  the  other  on  His^  left,  in  His  king- 
dom." He  points  her,  in  reply,  to  the  cup  of  sufifering  of 
which  they  were  to  drink,  and  the  baptism  of  blood  which 
was  to  be  their  portion.  And  then,  addressing  the  twelve.  He 
inculcates  the  lesson,  "  Whosoever  will  be  chief  among  you,  let 
him  be  your  servant."*  Such,  too,  was  the  unvarying  tenor 
of  His  preaching  to  the  people.     He  spread  before  them  no 


*  Matt.  XX.  21. 


JUDAISM.  71 


glowing  vision  of  Judea's  greatness.  He  spoke  of  good  ti- 
dings to  the  poor,  of  consolation  in  sorrow  and  deliverance  from 
affliction.  In  the  synagogue  at  Nazareth,  He  took  for  His  text 
the  passage,  "  The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me,  because  He 
hath  anointed  me  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  poor ;  He  hath 
sent  me  to  heal  the  broken-hearted,  to  preach  dehverance  to 
the  captives,  and  recovering  of  sight  to  the  blind ;  to  set  at 
liberty  them  that  are  bruised  ;  to  preach  the  acceptable  year 
of  the  Lord."  He  then  proceeded  to  declare,  that  these  days 
of  peace  and  comfort  were  now  dawning  upon  them.  And  it 
is  to  be  noticed,  that  before  He  came  to  the  next  clause,  which 
harmonized  ill  with  the  character  of  the  new  faith  and  spoke 
of  "  the  day  of  vengeance,"  He  broke  oflf  and  closed  the 
book.*  But  the  effect  of  this  pacific  tone,  which  characterized 
all  His  teaching,  was,  that  "  many  of  His  disciples  went  back, 
and  walked  no  more  with  Him."  It  was  an  entire  disappoint- 
ment of  all  the  expectations  which  had  been  raised  by  the  evi- 
dences He  gave  of  miraculous  power.  He  held  out  nothing  in 
accordance  with   their   excited   hopes — ^nothing  which  could 


*  This  is  the  idea  of  Milman,  {Hist,  i  100.)  This  passage  was  prob- 
ably the  lesson  for  the  day,  and  we  cannot  tell  how  far  it  extended,  as 
these  verses  are  not  included  in  any  of  the  lists  of  lessons  used  among 
the  modern  Jews,  and  wliich  they  assert  have  been  imaltered  since  the 
days  of  the  Maccabees.  The  51st  Haphtoroth  now  commences  with  the 
tenth  verse  of  this  chapter  instead  of  thr.  first.  "  Have  the  Jews,"  asks 
an  eminent  commentator,  "  altered  this  haphtoroth,  knowing  the  use 
which  our  Blessed  Lord  made  of  it  among  their  ancestors  ?" — Dr.  A, 
Clarice,  on  Deut.  xxxiv. 


72  JUDAISM. 


minister  to  that  passionate  national  feeling  inwrought  in  the 
Jewish  nature.  And  we  learn  how  entire  was  this  desertion, 
from  the  mournful  question  which  He  puts  to  the  chosen 
twelve,  "Will  ye  also  go  away  ?"* 

Thus  the  ministry  of  our  Lord  passed  away.  The  circle  of  His 
acknowledged  influence  was  narrow,  for  the  faithful  who  clung  to 
Him  were  few,  while  He  had  provoked  the  deep-rooted  hostihty 
of  the  rulers  of  the  people.  In  the  hearts  of  many,  like  Nicode- 
mus.  He  may  have  sowed  the  seeds  of  truth,  yet  they  shrunk 
from  taking  up  the  Cross  and  becoming  openly  His  professed 
disciples.  To  the  Apostles,  therefore,  the  task  of  establishing 
the  faith  was  more  difficult  than  ever,  for  the  intense  suspense 
in  which  the  public  mind  had  been  held  for  three  years  was 
ended  by  His  death,  and  the  hopes  of  even  His  attached  fol- 
lowers seemed  buried  in  the  sepulchre  in  the  garden.  They 
had,  too,  to  meet  the  bitter  disappointment  of  the  people, 
whose  deliverance  from  their  foreign  yoke  was  apparently  more 
hopeless  than  ever.  The  power  of  Rome  fell  with  crushing 
weight  wherever  the  least  resistance  was  seen.  Let  a  tumult 
occur  in  a  distant  village,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  a  Roman  cohort 
appeared  on  the  spot,  and  the  whole  village  was  swept  from 
the  earth.  Let  the  fanatical  populace  of  Jerusalem  show  signs 
of  violence,  and  Pilate,  leaving  his  abode  at  Caesarea,  appeared 
at  once  among  them,  set  up  his  tribunal,  and  even  the  imperi- 
ous Sanhedrim  trembled  and  bowed  with  humility  before  it. 

*  John,  vi  67. 


JUDAISM.  73 


Not  even  tlie  sacred  courts  of  tlie  Temple  were  a  refuge  from 
his  soldiery,  but  at  the  very  altar  they  mingled  the  blood  of 
the  Gahleans  with  their  sacrifices.  The  proud  and  restless 
people  had  the  lesson  of  Rome's  supremacy  constantly  forced 
upon  them  with  terrible  distinctness.  Everywhere,  too,  they 
encountered  the  pubhcans,  oppressive  in  their  exactions,  and 
the  hving  evidences  of  their  subjection  to  foreign  rule.  For  a 
Jew  to  accept  this  office  was  regarded  as  treason  against  his 
country.  And  yet  our  Lord  had  uttered  no  word  of  reproba- 
tion, and  so  far  from  sanctioning  the  popular  feehng  on  this 
subject,  it  was  one  of  the  charges  against  Him,  that  He  was 
"a friend  of  pubhcans."*  He  had  entered  into  their  houses, 
ate  and  drank  with  them;  and  even  in  selecting  the  chosen 
twelve,  who  were  to  be  the  leading  ministers  of  His  faith,  one 
of  the  number  was  a  member  of  this  hated  profession — an 
agent  of  this  foreign  rule — the  very  mention  of  which  mad- 
dened the  Jew  with  the  wildest  rage,  and  caused  him  to  utter 
fierce  prayers  against  the  oppressor.  The  natural  inquiry  of 
the  people,  therefore,  was.  What  has  Jesus  done  ?  and  they 
turned  from  one  who,  to  their  minds,  bore  not  a  single  mark 
or  sign  of  the  expected  Deliverer. 

We  have  thus  endeavored  to  bring  forward  a  portraiture  of 
Judaism  in  the  first  century  of  our  faith — ^its  holy  festivals  and 
glorious  worship,  the  jpride  and  passions,  the  hopes  and  preju- 
dices, which  swayed  its  fickle  population.     If  we  have  suc- 


*  Matt.  XL  19. 


74  JUDAISM. 


ceeded,  you  will  be  able  to  appreciate  the  obstacles  which,  were 
heaped  up  in  the  pathway  of  Christianity  as  it  went  forth  from 
its  cradle  to  inherit  the  earth.  Can  you  not  imagine,  therefore, 
the  situation  of  St.  Paul,  as  "  he  preached  Christ  in  the  syna- 
gogues?"* Can  you  not  picture  to  yourself  the  astonishment 
which  filled  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  when  he  proclaimed  to 
them  that  the  gorgeous  rites  and  ceremonies  their  fathers 
loved,  were  now  to  pass  away,  and  the  burst  of  indignant  rage 
which  rang  around  him  when  at  last  he  pointed  them  to  a 
crucified  malefactor  as  their  Messiah?  Can  you  wonder  at  the 
relentless  hostihty  with  which  they  pursued  him  from  city  to 
city,  seeking  even  his  life :  that  at  Antioch  *'  the  Jews  were 
filled  with  envy,  and  spake  against  those  things  which  were 
spoken  by  Paul,  contradicting  and  blaspheming:"  that  they 
"  stirred  up  the  devout  and  honorable  women,  and  the  chief 
men  of  the  city,  and  raised  persecution  against  Paul  and  Bar- 
nabas, and  expelled  them  out  of  their  coasts  :"f  that  at 
Iconium  "  there  was  an  assault  made  of  the  Jews,  with  their 
rulers,  to  use  them  despitefully  and  to  stone  them  :"J;  that 
when  they  had  fled  to  the  heathen  cities  of  Lystra  and  Derbe, 
and  the  Gentiles  heard  them  gladly,  "  thither  came  certain 
Jews  from  Antioch  and  Iconium,  who  persuaded  the  people, 
and  having  stoned  Paul,  drew  him  out  of  the  city,  supposing 
he  had  been  dead  ?"§^  Is  it  strange  that  their  resentful  oppo- 


*  Acts,  ix.  20.  f  Acts,  xiiL  45,  50. 

X  Acts,  xiv,  6.  §  Acts,  xiv.  19. 


■I  . 


JUDAISM.  T5 


sition  even  preceded  the  Apostle  to  Rome,  and  the  Jews  of  the 
Imperial  City  could  declare,  "  Concerning  this  sect,  we  know 
that  it  is  everywhere  spoken  against  ?"*  It  was  a  struggle 
between  the  Old  Faith  and  the  New,  which  was  for  life  and 
death,  and  there  is  no  warning  which  the  Apostle  reiterates 
more  frequently,  in  various  forms,  than  the  caution,  '*  Beware 
of  the  concision,  "f  ^^ 

And  yet,  this  contest  was  fought  and  the  triumph  achieved. 
The  Synagogue  and  the  Church  for  a  time  stood  opposed  to 
each  other  in  implacable  hostility ;  but  each  year  beheld  the 
power  of  the  former  weakening.  The  fierce  intolerance  of  the 
Jew  could  not  stand  before  the  calm  endurance  and  the  martyr 
courage  of  the  early  Christian.  The  offence  of  the  Cross 
gradually  ceased,  until  it  became  the  badge  of  honor.  At  last, 
Jerusalem  itself  was  spoiled  and  desolate — the  tombs  of  her 
kings,  consecrated  by  the  ashes  of  the  mighty,  were  violated — 
and  every  spot  sacred  to  the  broken  and  scattered  tribes  of 
Israel,  was  trampled  by  the  insulting  Infidel.  Again  might 
have  been  uttered  over  her  the  sorrowful  lamentation  of  the 
prophet,  *'How  doth  the  city  sit  solitary,  that  was  full  of 
people  !  how  has  she  become  as  a  widow !  she  that  was  great 
among  the  nations,  and  princess  among  the  provinces,  how  is 
she  become  tributary!"];  Judaism  could  scarcely  retain  its 
vitality,  when  its  great  central  home,  hallowed  by  the  rever- 
ence of  ages,  had  ceased  to  exist.     Tlie  rush  of  wings  which 

*  Acts,  xxviii.  22.  f  Fhil.  iii.  2.  X  -^«»^-  i-  1- 


T6  JUDAISM. 


was  heard  in  the  Temple,  as  the  days  of  Judea's  greatness 
waned  to  their  end,  and  the  voice  that  uttered,  "Let  us  depart 
hence,"  were  hut  significant  of  that  withdrawal  of  the  Divine 
favor  which  proclaimed  the  end  of  the  existing  polity.  This, 
too,  with  many,  must  have  given  a  death-blow  to  the  dreams 
of  an  earthly  monarch,  and  they  were  obliged  to  seek  in  the 
future  glories  which  Christianity  oflfered,  something  to  compen- 
sate them  for  their  present  humiliation.  The  Roman  plough- 
share had  passed  over  the  spot  on  which  once  stood  the  Holy 
of  Holies ;  where,  therefore,  could  the  throne  of  the  Deliverer 
be  erected  ?  Sad  and  solemn  were  the  memories  which  swept 
back  over  the  mind  of  the  Jew,  when  he  thought  of  the  Holy 
City,  and  the  glorious  scenes  he  had  witnessed  about  the 
Mount  of  Zion  !  There  once  stood  Jerusalem  on  its  lofty  hills, 
conspicuous  from  afar  by  the  lightness  and  beauty  of  its  East- 
ern architecture,  while  above  it  rose  the  massive  tower  of  the 
Antonia,  the  stately  palace  of  Herod,  and  the  still  more 
gorgeous  palace  of  the  King  of  Kings.  How  gloriously  must 
the  rays  of  a  setting  sun  have  played  upon  its  golden  roof  and 
among  its  marble  colonnades,  lighting  up  all  with  a  glittering 
radiance,  and  sending  through  the  valley  below  broad  masses 
of  shadow  which  brought  out  the  snow-white  Temple  into 
bolder  rehef!  And  at  the  hour  when  the  evening  sacrifice 
was  offered  up,  the  smoke  would  be  seen  rising  slowly  in  the 
air,  and  the  hymn  of  countless  worshippers  float  solemnly  on 
the  breeze.  But  now  every  thing  was  changed.  For  a  time 
desolation  rested  on  Mount  Moriah,  until  at  last  there  grew  up 


JUDAISM.  Y7 


the  heathen  city  of  ^\m,  and  sounds  of  busy  hfe  were  once 
more  heard  on  that  sacred  spot.  But  an  edict  of  the  Emperor 
prohibited  the  Jew  from  entering  its  walls,*  and  he  could  not 
even  come  to  die  amidst  the  graves  of  his  forefathers.  And 
if  he  attempted  to  evade  the  law,  how  could  he  pass  through 
the  Bethlehem  gate,  over  which  was  erected  the  image  of  a 
swine,  in  mockery  of  his  faith !  He  would  have  shrunk  from 
it  as  his  countrymen  at  Rome  did  from  the  arch  of  Titus, 
which  displayed  upon  its  sculptured  panels  the  last  scene  in 
their  countiy's  shame — the  triumphal  procession  of  the  cap- 
tive Jews,  bearing,  as  they  march,  the  sacred  utensils  of  the^ 
Temple,  the  table  of  show-bread,  the  golden  candlestick,  and 
the  silver  trumpets  of  the  priests.  Or  how  could  he  bear  to 
see  the  hill  of  Zion's  solemnities  profaned  by  a  temple  of  the 
impure  idolaters — its  incense  reeking  up  from  the  spot  on 
which  once  the  Shekinah  rest§d, — and  the  wild  dissonance  of 
Heathen  worship,  or  the  Bacchanalian  chorus  of  forbidden 
rites,  making  it  to  him  the  Mount  of  Corruption  !  The  Jewish 
mind  was  for  a  time  utterly  stunned.  It  has  been  truly  de- 
scribed as — the  bursting  of  the  heart  of  the  nation.  The 
people  had  never  contemplated  the  possibility  of  such  a  ruin, 
for  they  considered  the  promises  of  God  pledged  to  the  in- 
violability of  His  Temple.  They  beheld,  in  the  records  of  the 
past,  what  the  Heathen  would  call  an  avenging  Nemesis,  pur- 
suing those  who  had  profaned  its  shrine.     The  Assyrian  and 


*  Gibbon,  ch.  xv. 
1* 


78  JUDAISM. 


the  Persian  in  succession  plundered  it,  and  in  a  short  time  their 
dynasty  passed  away,  and  a  stranger  sat  upon  their  throne. 
Antiochus  Epiphanes  trod  in  their  footsteps,  and  terribly  was 
he  repaid  by  the  sad  and  mournful  death  which  terminated  his 
career.  Pompey  followed,  but  from  the  hour  of  his  profana- 
tion of  their  Temple  the  Jews  marked  with  exultation  that  his 
course  of  conquest  ended,  and  he  poured  out  his  life-blood 
upon  the  shores  of  Egypt.  Crassus  repeated  his  crime,  and 
he  perished  with  his  legions  on  the  sands  of  the  desert,  where 
the  wild  Parthians  were  the  ministers  of  God's  retribution. 
But  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  had  ceased. 
Tower  and  temple,  wall  and  citadel  were  dust — the  sword  and 
the  flame  had  done  their  work — Israel  was  clothed  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes  ;  but  still  no  storm  gathered  around  her  oppressors. 
There  seemed  no  vision  of  hope  remaining;  the  scattered 
tribes  realized  they  were  "  earth's  warning,  scofi",  and  shame," 
and  instead  of  contending  for  supremacy  with  the  rising  faith, 
were  content  to  wrap  themselves  up  in  sullen  isolation. 

A  century  more  went  by,  and  the  tone  of  the  Christian 
writers  shows  how  entire  was  the  downfall  of  the  ancient  faith. 
The  fiery  TertulHan,  from  the  shores  of  Africa,  utters  the  sen- 
timents which  prevailed  through  all  ranks  of  the  Church.* 
His  tone  of  triumph  is  mingled  with  no  sympathy  for  the  de- 
graded Jews.  He  seems  rather  to  rejoice  that  they  are  "  a 
people  scattered  and  peeled,  a  nation  meted  out  and  trodden 

*  Lib.  contra  Judoeos. 


JUDAISM.  79 


under  foot."*  He  exults  as  they  are  trampled  into  the  dust 
by  their  Heathen  persecutors.  There  is  something  almost  un- 
christian in  the  bitter  mockery  which  he  heaps  upon  their 
prostrate  foes,  but  he  regarded  them  as  those  on  whom  rested 
the  hereditary  guilt  of  their  Lord's  crucifixion — a  guilt  which 
had  been  bequeathed  to  them  by  the  fearful  prayer,  "  His 
blood  be  upon  us  and  upon  our  children  !"  and  therefore  no 
punishment  could  be  too  severe — no  sufferings  could  too  deeply 
abase  them. 

And  since  then,  what  has  been  the  history  of  the  once 
chosen  people  ?  It  has  realized  the  legend  of  the  wandering 
Jew — ever  hving,  yet  in  pain  and  sorrow — gifted  with  an  im- 
mortality, yet  roaming  restlessly  through  the  earth — never  at 
ease,  weary  and  desolate — followed,  as  it  wei^,  by  some  an- 
cient curse  ever  cleaving  to  their  garments.  Thus  bearing  the 
sorrows  of  eighteen  centuries  on  their  brow,  their  path  has 
been  over  the  brier  and  the  thorn,  and  they  have  merited  the 
title— 

"  Tribes  of  the  wandering  foot  and  weary  bre^t." 


*  Isaiah,  xviii  T. 


II. 

GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


The  warfare  which  Christianity  waged  with  Judaism  was  a 
contest  with  those  of  the  same  household.  It  was  the  struggle 
of  the  infant  Hercules  in  his  cradle  before  he  began  to  accom- 
plish his  mighty  works.  But  the  new  faith  grew  and  ex- 
panded, until  it  overpassed  the  bounds  of  Judea,  published  its 
mission  to  nations  which  long  had  sat  in  darkness  and  the 
shadow  of  death,  and  began  to  vindicate  its  claim  to  the  con- 
trol of  the  human  mind.  Everywhere  that  man  was  found  its 
appeal  was  made,  without  regard  to  the  narrow  distinctions  of 
race  or  caste.  In  tracing,  therefore,  its  progress,  as  it  went 
forth  to  endure  the  warfare  and  win  the  conquest,  we  must 
follow  it  from  its  sacred  home  in  Asia  to  another  continent, 
and  hear  its  voice  amid  the  groves  of  Athens,  as  it  oflfered  to 
solve  those  problems  which  for  ages  had  baffled  the  efforts  of 
human  learning.  The  subject,  therefore,  which  it  brings 
before  us  is,  Christianity  in  conflict  with  Grecian  Phi-    . 

LOSOPHY.  ^ 

We  confine  our  view  to  Greece,  because  there  only  did  the 
faith  encounter  philosophy  m  its  strength.     The  Romans  con- 


82  aRECIA]^  PHILOSOPHY. 

fessedly  had  none  of  their  own,  and  did  but  feebly  imitate  that 
which  they  imported  from  Athens.  It  was  "  Roman  plagiar- 
ism worshipping  the  echo  of  Grecian  wisdom."  After  the 
subjugation  of  Greece,  when  the  conquered  had  woven  their 
intellectual  chains  about' the  conquerors,  the  study  of  their 
literature  became  the  fashion  at  Rome.  To  speak  and  write 
the  language  was  an  indispensable  accomplishment.  A  Greek 
slave  to  instruct  the  children  was  the  necessary  appendage  to 
every  family,  ajid  Greek  professors  taught  philosophy  and 
rhetoric  to  those  who  aspired  to  a  liberal  education.  The 
youth  of  the  Imperial  City  visited  Athens  and  returned  with 
that  refinement  which  was  requisite  to  throw  a  grace  around 
the  sternness  of  the  Roman  character.  We  trace  this  influence 
in  the  Dialogues  of  Cicero,  and  still  more  in  that  light  and 
careless  philosophy  enshrined  by  Horace  in  those  verses  which 
are  now  as  sparkling  as  when  they  won  for  their  author  the 
favor  of  Augustus.  Amid  the  schools  of  Athens — adopting 
the  system  of  none,  yet  culling  from  all  what  gratified  his 
taste — a  student  by  turns  in  the  Academy,  the  Portico,  and  the 
Grove — ^he  seems  to  have  been  imbued  with  that  graceful 
Epicureanism  which  imparts  a  tone  of  pensive  skepticism  to  his 
poems.  And  this  was  the  only  kind  of  effect  which  philosophy 
seems  to  have  produced  at  Rome.  It  tinged,  in  some  degree, 
the  intellectual  firmament,  and  softened  and  refined  the  litera- 
ture, but  it  did  not  sink  into  the  hearts  of  men.  It  was  not 
elevated  into  a  belief,  moulding  the  whole  life,  and  becoming  a 
guide  not  only  to  the  intellect  but  to  the  conscience.     It  was 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  83 

not  a  great  system  involving  moral  obligations,  and  for  which, 
like  Socrates,  men  would  die.  It  took  no  root  in  the  national 
existence,  produced  no  great  thinkers,  and  therefore  exercised 
no  abidmg  influence.*  At  Rome,  then,  philosophy  could 
scarcely  be  numbered  among  the  antagonists  of  the  faith. 

But  at  Athens  it  was  far  different.  There  Christianity  had 
to  measure  strength  with  the  pride  of  earthly  wisdom — that 
insidious  spirit  which,  more  than  any  thing  else,  could  array  its 
possessor  against  the  humiUty  of  the  Gospel,  and  which  gave 
St.  Paul  occasion  to  declare,  that  "  not  many  wise  men  after 
the  flesh  are  called"  to  be  numbered  with  its  followers.  To 
this,  too,  he  refers,  when,  comparing  the  national  characteristic 
of  the  Jews  and  Greeks,  he  says,  "  The  Jews  require  a  sign, 
(i.  e.  a  miracle,)  and  the  Greeks  seek  after  wisdom,  (i.  e.  phi- 
losophy.)! And  when  he  stood  upon  Mars  Hill,  and  by  the 
simple  weapons  of  the  Gospel  struck  a  deadly  blow  at  the 
loftiest  dreams  to  which  human  learning  has  ever  given  birth, 
he  was  the  first  combatant  in  that  struggle  which  went  on  for 
centuries.  The  task,  therefore,  to  hun,  was  one  of  pecuHar 
difficulty.  He  came  to  the  seat- of  Grecian  learning  uncalled 
and  unexpected.  He  knew  not  that  any  spirit  there  was 
yearning  for  his  tidings,  or  any  heart  prepared  for  the  revela- 
tions he  was  to  unfold.  The  cry,  "  Come  over  and  help  us," 
was  heard  from  a  region  which  the  enhghtened  philosophers  of 
Greece  looked  down  upon  as  barbarous,  and  from  a  province 

*  Lewes'  Hist,  of  Philosophy,  ii.  184.  f  1  Cor.  i.  22. 


84  ORECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

which  they  were  reluctant  to  acknowledge  as  a  part  of  the 
Hellenic  nation.*  It  was  not  an  inhabitant  of  refined  Corinth 
or  intellectual  Athens,  but  "  a  man  of  Macedonia,"  who,  in  a 
vision,  stood  by  St.  Paul,  and  called  him  from  Asia  into 
Greece. 

We  would  endeavor,  therefore,  to  portray  the  nature  of 
those  obstacles  which  the  character  of  the  Athenians  and  their 
intellectual  training  placed  in  the  Apostle's  way,  for  we  believe 
they  are  seldom  realized.  We  are  content  to  rejoice  in  the 
glory  which  was  won — in  the  possession  of  the  truth  which 
has  made  us  free  ;  but  we  think  too  little  of  the  pains  and 
sufferings  of  those  who  passed  through  the  conflict  and 
achieved  the  triumph.  And  in  performing  this  task,  we  shall 
regard  the  philosophy  of  Greece,  which  the  Apostle  here  en- 
countered, as  an  antagonist  entirely  distinct  from  that  ancient 
mythology,  which,  if  it  had  not  its  birth  on  the  same  spot, 
was  at  least  here  shaped  into  those  forms  of  beauty  in  which 
it  has  come  down  to  us.  The  two  are  often  so  mingled  as  to 
render  it  impossible  to  separate  them ;  yet,  as  far  as  prac- 
ticable, we  shall  pass  by  the  consideration  of  the  latter  until 
we  meet  it  in  all  its  wide-spread  influence,  when  beholding  the 
establishment  of  the  faith  in  the  Imperial  City. 

We  must  begin  by  considering  the  character  of  the  Greeks 
at  this  time.  We  seldom  appreciate  the  habits  of  thought  on 
the  intellectual  character  of  a  people  who  are  removed  from 

*  WordswwtKs  Qreecey  p.  8. 


GKECIAiq^  PHILOSOPHY.  •  85 

US  by  the  distance  of  centuries.  It  is  a  point  not  brought 
before  us.  "  History  is  rarely  more  than  the  biography  of 
great  men.  Through  a  succession  of  individuals  we  trace  the 
character  and  destiny  of  nations.  The  People  glide  away 
from  us,  a  sublime  but  intangible  abstraction,  and  the  voice  of 
the  mighty  Agora  reaches  us  only  through  the  medium  of  its 
representatives  to  posterity."*  But  these  often  give  no  true 
idea  of  the  nation  from  which  they  come,  and  thus  we  are  led 
to  form  false  conclusions.  Dazzled  by  the  eloquence  of  a  few 
imperishable  names,  we  dwell  upon  these  alone,  and  suffer  the 
character  of  a  departed  people  to  rest  in  silence. 

The  world  has  never  witnessed  a  national  character  like  that 
of  the  Greeks  at  the  advent  of  Christianity.  These  were  their 
most  Grecian  days,  when  they  had  reached  their  highest  cul- 
minating point.  The  vast  and  colossal  features  of  the  Iron 
Age,  stamped  as  they  were  with  the  heroic  and  sublime — 
rugged  yet  grand — had  given  place  to  forms  of  grace  and 
beauty.  Nature  itself  acted  on  the  Greek  to  give  a  higher 
tone  to  his  character.  The  transparent  atmosphere — the  cloud- 
less sky — the  balmy  winds,  all  so  pure  that  they  rendered  mere 
animal  existence  a  luxury — lightened  the  heart  and  acted  on 
the  whole  system  with  an  exhilarating  power.  His  imagina- 
tive faculties,  too,  were  kept  in  constant  exercise  by  the  scenes 
on  which  he  gazed.  They  partook  both  of  the  sublime  and 
the  calm  and  beautiful.    Here,  he  beheld  the  traces  of  volcanic 


*  Bulwer's  Athens,  ii.  9. 
8 


86  *  aEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

fires  which  had  desolated  the  soil,  or  of  earthquakes,  which,  as 
at  Sparta,  had  overthrown  cities  and  convulsed  the  lofty  moun- 
tains, so  that  when  they  passed  away,  the  dark  wide  chasms 
were  their  footsteps,  and  their  impress  remained  stamped  upon 
the  enduring  rock.  There,  his  eye  met  only  forms  of  softness 
and  repose — glittering  shores  resting  in  the  calmness  of  a  vivid 
sunlight,  such  as  is  seen  but  in  those  Eastern  lands — and 
countless  islands  floating  in  a  sea  which  appeared  to  be  ruffled 
only  by  a  summer  breeze.  Nor  was  nature  left  to  produce 
this  influence  alone.  When  the  Greek  looked  to  some  distant 
hill,  he  beheld,  perhaps,  the  Doric  columns  of  a  stately  temple 
rising  on  its  brow ;  while  in  the  retired  grove — ^in  the  open 
spaces  of  the  Agoras — and  in  the  crowded  avenues  of  the 
streets — he  encountered  breathing  statues  wrought  from  the  ra- 
diant marbles  of  Paros  or  Pentelicus.  And  the  love  of  these 
creations  of  art  became  a  part  of  his  very  existence.  They 
appealed  to  his  imagination  like  the  trophies  of  Miltiades  to 
the  mind  of  Themistocles,  haunting  him  by  day  and  mingling 
with  his  dreams  by  night,  until  the  outward  world  acted  like 
inspiration  to  his  spirit  and  moulded  his  whole  nature  into  an 
intense  love  of  the  ideal  and  the  beautiful. 

The  Greek,  therefore,  in  this  age,  had  attained  the  very 
height  of  intellectual  culture.  Never  before  had  mind  been  so 
active,  and  at  Athens  was  collected  all  that  human  wisdom  had 
ever  devised.  The  heritage  of  traditions  they  had  received 
from  their  Pelasgian  ancestors,  the  dim  track  of  whose  exis- 
tence we  find  it  so  difficult  to  trace — the  discoveries  of  Egyp- 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  87 

tian  hierophants,  enshrined  in  their  dark  and  mystic  creed — 
the  rehcs  of  old  Chaldean  learning,  when  its  sages  looked  out 
from  their  towers  on  the  hosts  of  heaven,  or  calculated  that 
mystery  of  numbers  which  they  supposed  to  enclose  the  secrets 
of  prophecy — all,  in  truth,  that  the  world  had  known  from  the 
distant  West  to  the  antique  temples  of  India,  had  become  the 
property  of  these  briUiant  children  of  the  South.  The  pride 
of  human  intellect  was  throned  in  Gree^  and  from  thence  her 
philosophers  ruled  the  mind  of  many  nations.  And  this  exer- 
tion of  thought  and  energy  of  genius  was  not  confined  to  the 
favored  few.  It  pervaded  the  mass  of  the  whole  people. 
Each  Athenian  was  esteemed  competent  to  decide  on  all 
matters,  from  the  most  venerable  to  the  least  important,  and 
all  in  succession  came  before  him  and  claimed  his  attention  in 
those  great  assemblies  which  were  the  nurseries  of  Grecian 
eloquence.  There  they  met  the  jewelled  heralds  of  Persia,  and 
sent  back  their  taunting  defiance  to  the  power  which  seemed 
ready  to  crush  them.  Thither  came  the  ambassadors  of  Sparta 
with  their  complaints,  when  they  would  prevent  the  rebuilding 
the  demolished  walls  of  Athens,  and  the  acuteness  of  Attica 
was  called  into  exercise  to  defeat  by  diplomacy  the  dishonor- 
able craft  of  their  more  wai'like  neighbor.  There  were  dis- 
cussed the  measures  of  Miltiades  and  Themistocles,  and  each 
citizen  watched  with  jealous  care  the  movements  of  these 
popular  leaders,  ever  anxious  lest  the  state  should  be  injured 
by  their  ambition.  There  each  expedition  was  publicly  dis- 
cussed,  and  the  whole  people  decided  how  many  war-ships 


88  GEECIA]^  PHILOSOPHY. 

should  sail  against  Paros,  and  how  many  troops  should  march 
to  succor  Lacedemon,  when  the  earthquake  had  rent  asunder 
the  chains  of  her  Helots,  and  amidst  the  very  convulsions  of 
Nature,  the  wild  and  desperate  slaves  had  risen  on  their 
masters.  There,  too,  were  settled  all  that  concerned  the 
gorgeous  rites  of  their  faith — the  recognition  of  a  new  deity — 
the  erection  of  another  temple — or  the  remodelling  those  forms 
of  ancient  worship,  t^which  each  age  was  adding  a  higher 
poetical  beauty.  To  the  people,  too,  was  submitted  every  thing 
that  concerned  literature  and  art — the  numbers  of  a  tragic 
chorus — the  material  of  that  statue  of  the  champion  deity 
which  Phidias  was  to  execute  for  the  Acropolis — the  meed  of 
praise  to  be  awarded  to  the  successful  painter — and  the  judg- 
ment to  be  passed  upon  the  poet,  who  stood  trembling  for 
their  decision.  If,  therefore,  the  genius  of  an  Athenian  was 
unnaturally  forced,  it  was  most  prodigal  in  its  luxuriance. 
And  the  same  training  necessarily  produced  in  him  a  most 
thorough  cultivation  of  the  taste.  Everywhere  we  trace  the 
existence  of  "  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine."  He  was  at 
home  in  every  department  of  life,  for  every  thing  was  referred 
to  him,  and  he  learned  to  judge  of  every  thing.  From  his 
earhest  years  he  was  brought  into  contact  with  all  that  could 
refine  the  mind  and  elevate  the  imagination.  This  was  his 
education.  His  academe  was  the  public  Agora — ^his  books 
were  those  productions  of  art,  before  the  unequalled  glory  of 
which  the  world  even  now  bows  in  reverence — ^his  teachers 
were  the  noblest  orators  of  antiquity,  and  the  writers  of  those 


'  J 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  89 

lofty  tragedies  whose  sublimity  modem  genius  has  never  yet 
surpassed.  An  Athenian,  therefore,  was  born  a  statesman — 
thought  was  his  natural  heritage — ^he  felt  from  the  earhest 
dawn  of  reason  that  he  was  himself  a  part  of  the  state — and 
hence  arose  that  idolatrous  love  of  country  which  in  him  con- 
trasted so  well  with  the  fanatical  patriotism  of  Sparta.*  For 
him  were  erected  those  lofty  temples — those  noble  porticoes — 
and  those  schools  of  learning.  For  him  were  those  sumptu- 
ous baths — those  groves  and  gardens  which  sheltered  him  from 
the  noonday  sun — and  that  noble  theatre,  where  the  in- 
habitants of  a  city  could  range  themselves  on  its  benches. 
And  never  again  shall  the  world  see  such  an  audience  !  What 
other  assemblage  could  have  appreciated  the  lofty  dramas  of 


*  Tliis  love  of  the  Greek  for  his  native  city  is  beautifully  set  forth  by 
Metastasio,  in  his  drama  of  Temistocle.  In  the  later  view  between 
Theniistocles  and  Xerxes,  the  latter,  endeavoring  to  show  that  a 
banished  man  can  have  no  love  for  an  ungrateful  country,  receives  from 
the  Athenian  eidle  an  answer  whose  very  brevity  is  sublime, — 

Nacqui  in  Atene. 

"  Born  in  Athens."  And  then  most  beautifully  does  the  Itahan  poet 
express  the  reverential  reply  of  the  exile  to  the  haughty  question, 
*'  What  he  loves  there  so  well?"  In  a  few  lines  he  enimierates  the 
objects  of  his  love  and  regret — the  ashes  of  the  ancestral  dead,  the 
sacred  laws,  the  protecting  gods,  the  speech,  the  mamiers — yes,  the 
sweat  it  has  cost  him,  the  splendor  he  has  thence  derived — the  air,  the 
trees,  the  soil,  the  walls,  the  very  stones ;  and  thus  he  gieems  to  have 
exhausted  every  feeling,  for  liis  voice  sinks  into  silence,  and  he  closes 
abruptly,  as  if  overwhelmed  by  the  details  of  his  patriotic  love.- 
Fraser^s  Mag. 

8* 


90  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

<^schylus,  or  the  plays  of  Aristophanes,  as  he  holds  up  before 
them  a  satire  on  themselves — boldly  ridicules  the  humors  of  a 
democracy — and  recklessly  lampoons  all  the  interests  of  the 
Agora  and  the  Piraeus  !  What  audience  but  an  Athenian 
would  have  responded  to  his  sparkling  wit  with  an  applause, 
which,  while  it  testified  to  the  genius  of  the  author,  proved 
also  the  refinement  of  those  for  whom  his  plays  were  written  ! 
In  what  other  natron,  indeed,  could  we  recognise  as  a  truth 
what  the  Stagyrite  has  laid  down  as  a  general  proposition — 
that  the  common  people  are  the  most  exquisite  judges  of 
whatever  in  art  is  graceful,  harmonious,  or  sublime  !* 

Such  was  the  intellectual  training  of  the  Athenians.  They 
passed  their  days  in  an  atmosphere  of  intelligence  which  else- 
where has  never  had  its  parallel  in  the  annals  of  the  world. 
Incited  to  perpetual  emulation,  life  with  them  was  crowded 
with  action,  and  that  action  was  conceived  and  executed  in  the 
spirit  of  poetry.  With  the  brightest  rewards  held  out  to  the 
efforts  of  successful  genius,  they  were  ever  struggling  to  pro- 
duce some  dazzling  result  which  should  win  for  them  the  ap- 
plause of  assembled  Greece.  And  the  fruits  of  these  efforts 
are  even  now  with  us.  They  are  witnessed  in  that  p?oud  phi- 
losophy, whose  influence  is  still  felt  on  the  intellect  of  the 
world,  and  that  lofty  poetry  which,  long  as  the  generations  of 
men  remain,  shall  furnish  their  models  and  master-pieces.  We 
cannot,  indeed,  begin  to  trace  the  progress  of  the  human  mind, 

*  Btdwer's  Athens,  ii.  235. 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  91 

without  turning  at  once  to  the  history  of  Greece.  And  now, 
when  more  than  two  thousand  years  have  passed  away,  we 
find  ourselves  surrounded  by  the  trophies  of  Athenian  genius, 
and  swayed  by  the  spirit  they  impart.  Her  creations  of  beauty 
mingle  in  the  dreams  of  the  artist,  and  are  reproduced  in 
many  a  varied  form — the  student  in  his  closet  turns  with 
reverent  awe  to  commune  with  her  mighty  dead — and  even  the 
legislator  gathers  wisdom  from  the  experience  of  those  who 
essayed  to  rule  that  fickle  and  brilliant  people.  We  cannot 
define  her  influence,  but  we  feel  that  it  has  ever  been  to  aid  the 
triumph  of  the  Intellectual  over  the  Material  and  the  Physical ; 
and  now,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  ages,  we  realize  even 
more  fully  than  did  he  who  wrote  the  sentence,  "  that  the 
power  of  ancient  Greece  was  not  an  idle  legend."* 

A  blighting  change  has  passed  over  that  fair  city  which 
once  claimed  to  be  the  EXXaj  iiWaSoi — "  the  Greece  of  Greece." 
The  Propylsea  and  the  Parthenon  are  in  ruins — the  olive-groves 
of  Academe,  which  Cimon  planted,  and  which  were  conse- 
crated by  the  bright  remembrance  of  Plato's  presence,  have 
been  swept  away — and  silence  and  desolation  have  settled  on 
the  spou  where  once  stood  the  tumultuous  Agora.  But  the 
spirit  of  Athens  is  felt  throughout  the  world.  It  gave  birth 
to  an  imperishable  language,  and  then  to  insure  its  universahty, 
enshrined  in  it  the  rarest  treasures.  Every  land  over  the  wide 
earth  has  been  breathed  on  by  the  air  of  Attica,  and  every 

*  Plut.  in  vit  Per. 


92  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

civilized  nation  has  done  reverence  to  the  genius  of  her  people. 
Glorious,  indeed,  must  have  been  that  nation  whom  Miltiades 
led  against  the  Mede  at  Marathon,  and  Aristides  at  Platsea — 
over  whom  the  brilliant  Pericles  ruled — who  hstened  to  the 
burning  eloquence  of  Demosthenes — whose  code  was  written 
by  Solon — and  to  whom  Plato  unfolded  those  glowing  visions 
which  even  now  float  in  beauty  before  the  eyes  of  the  scholar 
and  the  philosopher ! 

But  we  must  turn  to  the  social  life  of  the  Greeks,  thoroughly 
to  understand  their  character.  They  were  not  a  reading,  but  a 
hearing  and  a  talking  people.  With  them  the  mind  was 
reached  through  the  eye  and  the  ear.  The  imaginative  faculty 
was  perpetually  called  forth,  and  these  impulsive  children  of 
the  East,  with  every  power  expanded  into  the  very  fulness  of 
life,  were  the  very  audience  to  be  swayed  by  an  orator  who 
could  play  upon  the  impulses  and  passions  of  those  he  ad- 
dressed. There  was  no  press  through  which  the  philosopher 
could  appeal  to  his  countrymen;  and  therefore,  instead  of 
writing  for  their  benefit,  he  mingled  with  them  in  their  daily 
walks,  and  by  the  living  voice  inculcated  his  doctrines.  He 
established  a  school,  and  its  benches  were  crowded  oy  those 
who  loved  to  seek  in  any  form  the  excitement  of  intellectual 
activity.  No  cares  of  business  occupied  their  time,  for  they 
lived  on  the  tribute  of  subject-nations,  or  on  the  industry  of  their 
slaves.  The  Romans  spent  their  leisure  hours  in  reading — we 
find  their  poets  alluding  to  the  "  midnight  oil" — and  Homer 
and  the  Greek  writers  were  their  constant  study.     But  the 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  93 

Athenian  listened  to  these  authors  recited  in  the  open  air. 
The  charms  of  domestic  Hfe  were  comparatively  unknown,  and 
home  conveyed  not  to  the  Greek  the  idea  with  which  we  in 
modem  times  invest  it.  His  social  hours  were  spent  abroad — 
in  the  groves  and  gardens — and  in  those  noble  colonnades 
which  Simon  erected,  that  beneath  their  shade,  sheltered  from 
the  western  sun,  his  countrymen  might  assemble  and  converse. 
There  they  reviewed  the  operations  of  their  generals,  canvassed 
the  merits  of  o  pposing  orators,  or  hstened  to  the  reasoning  of 
philosophers  upon  subjects  the  most  abstruse,  such  as  the  soul, 
the  creation  of  the  universe,  its  sustaining  causes,  its  duration, 
and  the  purposes  of  its  various  parts.  For  one  library,  the 
Greeks  had  a  hundred  theatres  for  plays,  music  and  spectacles — 
groves  and  academies  for  disputation — forums  for  orators — and 
gymnasia  and  palaestrae  for  exercise  and  conversation.* 

With  us,  indeed,  in  the  cold  regions  of  the  north,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  understand  the  attachment  of  these  impassioned  chil- 
dren of  a  warmer  latitude,  to  the  mere  physical  enjoyment  of 
climate.  Yet  without  taking  into  account  this  element  of 
Greek  character,  we  can  scarcely  comprehend  them  aright. 
They  display  an  ardent  love  for  the  sun,  as  if  he  were  a 
familiar  friend.  It  was  the  practice  of  the  Grecian  children, 
when  his  rays  were  obscured  by  a  cloud,  to  exclaim,  "  E^e;^* 
w  (piV  'fiXit !" — "  Come  forth,  beloved  sun  !"f  He  was  to  them 
an  emblem  of  glory  and  fertility.     In  the  gladness  of  their 

*  Metros.  Rev.  Introd.  f  St.  John's  Hellenes,  v.  i.  p.  149. 


94  aRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

!;emperament  they  asked  only  that  the  skies  should  shine 
above  them,  and  the  seas  sparkle  at  their  feet.  They  basked 
in  the  sunny  air  while  life  continued,  and  when  they  were 
obliged  to  depart  from  this  world,  the  chief  terror  of  "the 
gloomy  Hades"  is,  that  its  fields  are  un visited  by  those  bright 
beams  which  had  shed  such  cheerful  beauty  about  their 
earthly  homes.  To  the  god  of  day,  therefore,  they  turned  to 
utter  their  last  farewell ;  and  the  personages  of  Grecian  poetry 
seem  to  linger  with  the  same  reluctance,  as  if  they  were  part- 
ing from  those  who  claimed  them  as  earthly  kindred.*  We 
hear  this  in  the  mournful  tones  of  Antigone,  when  she  ex- 
claims,— 

"  Farewell,  my  friends  !  my  countrymen,  farewell  1 
Here  on  her  last  sad  jomney  you  behold 
The  poor  Antigone  :  for  never  more 
Shall  I  return,  or  view  the  light  of  day. 
The  hand  of  death  conducts  me  to  the  shore 
•  Of  dreary  Acheron."f 

And  to  contrast  with  the  womanly  tenderness  of  Antigone 
the  more  manly  language  of  Ajax,  it  is  thus  that  the  hero  con- 
cludes his  apostrophe  to  the  objects  he  was  leaving,  before  he 
dies  by  his  own  sword, — 

"  And  thou,  0  Sun !  who  drivest  the  flaming  car 
Along  the  vaulted  sky  :  when  thou  shalt  see 
My  native  soil,  O  !  stop  thy  golden  reins ; 

*  BtUwer's  Athens,  ii.  314.  f  Sophocles,  Antig.  750. 


GEEOIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  95 

Tell  the  sad  story  to  my  hapless  sire, 
And  my  afflicted  mother ;  when  she  hears 
The  mournful  tale,  her  grief  will  fill  the  land 
With  dreadful  lamentations ;  but  'tis  vain 
To  weep  my  fate  :  the  business  must  be  done. 
0  Death  !  look  on  me.  Death  !  I  come  to  thee  ; 
Soon  shall  we  meet :  but  thee,  0  glorious  Day, 
Present  and  breathing  round  me,  and  the  car 
Of  the  sweet  Sim,  thou  never  shalt  again 
Receive  my  greeting !  henceforth  time  is  sunless, 
And  day  a  thing  that  is  not !     Beautiful  light."* 

Such  were  the  characteristics  of  the  Greeks.  And  now,  to 
bring  this  vividly  before  us — to  enable  us  to  realize  more  fully 
the  nature  of  that  hfe  they  passed,  crowned  by  all  that  could 
elevate  and  refine — let  us  endeavor  to  summon  up  a  picture  of 
the  glorious  city  in  her  palmy  days,  and  see  her  children  in 
some  of  those  occupations  which  formed  their  characters,  and 
made  them  what  they  have  come  down  to  us — restless,  bril- 
liant, and  intellectual.  We  pass  the  gates  of  Athens,  and 
everywhere  meet  her  gay  and  graceful  population,  thronging 
the  streets  or  wandering  through  the  olive-groves,  whose  leaves 
rustle  with  the  gentle  breezes  from  the  sea.  We  behold  on 
every  side  the  very  triumph  of  Grecian  art — the  works  of 
Praxiteles  and  Myron,  of  Phidias  and  Scopas — not  concealed 
within  the  enclosure  of  halls,  but  everywhere,  on  the  lofty 
pediments  of  temples,  by  the  wayside,  and  in  the  open  air, 
whose  purity  preserved  those  beautiful  creations  unchanged 


*  Sophocles,  Ajax,  790. 


96  GEECIAN  PinLOSOPHY. 

from  year  to  year.  Later  times  have  seen  them  only  in  their 
broken  remains,  mutilated  and  defaced ;  yet  each  generation 
gazed  on  them  with  reverent  wonder,  and  they  have  ever  been 
the  world's  immortal  models.  But  in  the  age  to  which  we  are 
referring,  they  were  in  the  freshness  of  youth,  and  we  can 
mingle  with  the  crowds  who  gather  around  the  Olympian  Jove 
of  Phidias,  awed  by  his  Homeric  majesty,  as  they  behold  him 
seated  in  his  lofty  car.  Architecture,  too,  lends  her  aid. 
Those  glorious  fabrics  are  before  us,  which,  Plutarch  says, 
"  seem  endowed  with  the  bloom  of  a  perpetual  youth."  As  far 
back  as  the  days  of  Homer,  the  palaces  of  Greece,  even 
making  some  allowance  for  poetical  embellishment,  must  have 
displayed  a  beauty  in  the  array  of  precious  metals,  and  the 
harmonious  blending  of  azure  and  gold,  beyond  what  we  are 
accustomed  to  ascribe  to  that  early  age.*  We  may  imagine, 
then,  in  later  generations,  with  the  greater  rej&nement  of  taste, 
the  Queen  of  Attica  had  lost  none  of  her  glory.  The  quarries  of 
Paros  and  Pentelicus  had  given  up  their  treasures,  and  entabla- 
ture and  column,  of  snow-white  marble,  meet  the  eye  wherever 


*  "  Walls  plated  bright  with  brass,  on  either  side 
Stretch'd  from  the  portal  to  the  interior  house, 
With  azure  cornice  crown'd ;  the  doors  were  gold 
Which  shut  the  palace  fast ;  silver  the  posts 
Rear'd  on  a  brazen  threshold,  and  above, 
Tlie  lintels,  silver,  architraved  with  gold. 
Mastiffs,  in  gold  and  silver,  lined  the  approach 
On  either  side." — Odyssey,  1.  vii.  103. 


GRECIA:f^r  PHILOSOPHY.  97 

we  turn.  The  sister  art,  too,  of  painting,  had  been  invoked  to 
impart  her  charms,  and  the  marble  of  frieze  and  pediment  are 
covered  with  a  brilliancy  of  colors  which  could  long  be  pre- 
served in  no  atmosphere  but  that  of  Greece.  Thus  they 
stand,  palaces  and  temples — beautiful  in  their  fair  proportions, 
dazzling  in  their  hues — and,  rising  far  above  them  all,  as  if  to 
consecrate  the  whole,  the  sacred  Acropolis,  "  the  City  of  the 
Gods."  Such  is  the  glory  of  this  fair  city,  giving  occasion  to 
the  bitter  reproach  of  the  alhes,  that  she  is  **  as  a  vain  woman 
decked  out  with  jewels."* 

But  a  crowd  obstructs  the  way.  Two  rival  sopMsts  are 
disputing,  and  as  the  intellectual  warfare  grows  warmer,  the 
delighted  circle  gathers  closer  around  them.  They  reason  by 
the  strictest  rules  of  logic,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  spectators 
reaches  its  height  as  one  is  forced  into  a  position  where  he  is 
obliged  to  acknowledge  his  defeat.  "We  pass  on,  and  a  rhap- 
sodist  is  reciting  to  his  audience.  The  poem  he  declaims  with 
such  impassioned  gestures,  embraces  the  most  vivid  and  ani- 
mating subjects  of  interest,  and  his  hearers  catch  the  excitement. 
It  is  the  combat  between  Hector  and  Achilles,  and  the  story, 
heard  a  thousand  times  before,  is  to  them  ever  fresh  and  new. 
They  share  in  the  sorrows  of  the  aged  Priam,  as  he  prays  his 
son  to  avoid  a  combat  with  him,  who  had  already  "  unchilded 
him  of  many  a  son" — ^tears  flow  as  they  hsten  to  his  mother's 
weeping   entreaties — with  clenched  hands  and  flashing   eyes 


*  Plut.  in  vit.  Per. 
9 


98  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

they  trace  the  progress  of  the  fight ;  and  when  at  last  the 
mighty  Hector  falls,  pierced  by  his  foeman's  spear,  one  heart- 
felt groan  is  heard  from  all  the  rapt  Usteners.  It  is  a  scene, 
the  copy  of  which  we  may  see  at  this  day  upon  the  Mole  in 
Naples,  except  that  there  the  lazzaroni  listen  to  the  strains  of 
Tasso,  instead  of  the  lofty  verse  of  Homer. 

But  the  people  are  thronging  to  the  Pnyx,  the  place  of  their 
public  assembly.  We  find  it  on  the  sloping  side  of  a  hill, 
where  a  semicircular  space  has  been  hewn  out  of  the  lime- 
stone rock,  with  no  roof  above  it,  and  no  wall  enclosing  it.  Six 
thousand  citizens  have  filled  this  area,  and  in  the  presence  of 
this  multitude  Themistocles  rises  and  stands  upon  the  Bema,  a 
solid  pedestal  cut  from  the  rock.  There  is  a  hushed  attention, 
for  he  is  to  address  them  on  the  forming  of  the  port  of  Piraeus, 
a  scheme  which  his  far-reaching  wisdom  saw,  would  secure  to 
Athens  the  sovereignty  of  the  seas.  He  is  to  appeal,  not  to 
these  six  thousand  alone,  but  through  them  to  all  his  country- 
men. He  pauses  for  a  moment  and  looks  abroad  upon  the 
scene.  Below  him  is  the  Agora,  filled  with  statues,  and  altars, 
and  temples,  memorials  of  the  great  of  other  days,  for  Greece 
ever  honored  the  dead  more  than  the  living.  Beyond  it  is  the 
Areopagus,  the  most  venerable  tribunal  of  the  ancient  world ; 
above  it  the  Acropolis  ;  and,  towering  high  in  the  air,  the  co- 
lossal statue  of  Minerva  Promachus,  armed  with  helmet,  shield, 
and  spear,  and  seeming  to  challenge  the  world  in  defence  of 
Athens.  To  the  right  is  the  Parthenon,  rising  in  severe  and 
stately  beauty,  dazzling  the  eye  with  its  statues,  its  paintmg, 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  99 

and  gold.  To  the  north  are  the  plains  and  vineyards,  the 
olive-grounds  and  villages  of  Attica,  lying  in  peaceful  quiet 
away  from  this  stirring  scene.  Beyond  are  the  poetical  heights 
of  Phyle,  and  in  the  distant  horizon  the  mountain-ridges  of 
Fames  and  Pentelicus.  He  turns  to  the  left,  and  traces  with 
his  eye  the  road  to  Eleusis — the  Sacred  Way — which  passes  by 
the  groves  of  the  Academy,  and  over  the  classical  stream  of 
Cephissus ;  and  in  the  distance  is  the  now  neglected  Piraeus,  to 
which  his  eloquence  to-day  is  to  direct  the  attention  of  his 
countrymen,  so  that  the  vacant  spot  will  soon  be  filled  with 
vessels  from  distant  lands — from  the  islands  of  the  JEgean,  the 
peninsula  of  Thrace,  and  the  coast  of  the  Euxine — and  his  na- 
tive city  become  the  empress  of  the  seas.  And  if  other  objects 
were  wanting  to  fire  his  mind,  there  was  the  gulf  of  Salamis, 
where  he  himself,  as  leader  of  the  Greeks,  had  won  imperisha- 
ble glory — with  on  the  one  side,  the  eminence  of  Mount  ^ga- 
leos,  where  Xerxes  sat  upon  his  throne  of  precious  metals  to 
watch  the  progress  of  the  fight,  and  on  the  other  the  Cape  on 
which  stands  the  trophy  of  Themistocles  himself.*  Is  it 
strange,  then,  that  he  can  stir  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen 
with  a  resistless  power,  or  that  the  Pnyx  became  the  school  of 
Athenian  oratory  ? 

But  it  is  time  to  pass  to  another  arena  of  Grecian  glory,  and 
one  from  which  a  spirit  has  gone  forth  for  two  thousand  years 
to  influence  the  literature  of  the  world.     It  is  the  great  Theatre 

*  Wordsworth's  Greece,  p.  160. 


100  GEECIAT^  PHILOSOPHY. 

of  Athens,  like  tlie  Pnyx,  hewn  from  the  hving  rock  of  the 
Acropohs,  beneath  the  Parthenon  of  Minerva  and  the  majestic 
statue  of  Jupiter.  From  its  sloping  seats  the  wide  prospect  of 
both  sea  and  land  stretches  out  before  the  eye  like  some  vast 
amphitheatre,  till  sky  and  earth  mingle  in  the  dim  distance. 
Open  above  to  the  heavens,  the  actors  were  hemmed  in  by  no 
painted  scenes,  but  they  turned  to  the  skies  and  the  lofty 
mountains,  and  the  shores  so  rich  in  historical  associations.  No 
artificial  lights  were  there,  but  the  glorious  sun  of  Greece  was 
above  them,  and  the  breezes  which  swept  by  were  filled  with 
odors  from  the  purple  hills  of  Hymettus.  On  the  lower 
benches  of  the  semicircle  are  the  archons  and  magistrates — the 
senators  and  priests — while  rising  above  them  are  tier  upon  tier 
of  seats  crowded  with  eighteen  thousand  spectators.  "  Ath- 
ens," says  Plutarch,  "spent  more  in  dramatic  representations 
than  in  all  her  wars."  But  we  are  to  remember  that  the  drama 
of  Greece  was  the  loftiest  portion  of  her  literature,  and  when 
Aristotle  ranked  the  tragic  higher  than  even  the  epic  muse,* 
he  was  but  echoing  the  voice  of  all  his  countrymen.  It  dealt 
with  the  highest  interests  of  men — it  was  hallowed  by  the  so- 
lemnities of  religious  faith — its  subjects  were  those  legends  of 
the  elder  times  in  which  the  gods  themselves  were  actors — and 
it  was  brought  before  the  audience  heightened  by  all  the  pomp 
of  spectacle  and  the  charms  of  the  loftiest  music.  It  was  no 
pastime  of  an  hour,  but  the  assembled  multitude  listened  with 

*  Be  Poet.  c.  26. 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  101 

reverent  ear  as  the  plot  unfolded,  and  it  came  to  them  with 
somewhat  of  sanctity  from  its  connection  with  the  spiritual  world. 
We  see  this  in  the  noblest  drama  of  them  all — the  Prome- 
theus of  Eschylus — where  an  awful  interest  invests  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  hero,  as,  an  elder  and  a  better  Deity,  he  sinks  before 
the  power  of  his  Olympian  successor.  Yet  he  himself  feels, 
that  "  the  dark  course  of  the  grim  Necessity"  is  pressing  him 
down,  and  "  unawed  by  the  wrath  of  gods,"  he  submits  to  what 
he  regards  as  an  inevitable  fatality.  But  physical  anguish 
cannot  crush  him,  and  when  the  Oceanides  rise  around  his 
couch  of  pain,  and  in  their  notes  of  pity  impart  the  sympathy 
he  had  excited — that  "the  wide  earth  waileth  him,"  and 
through  all  its  dwelling-places,  "  fall  for  a  godhead's  wrongs, 
the  mortals'  murmuring  tears" — ^the  Titan  answers  in  the  voice 
of  prophecy,  bids  defiance  to  his  oppressor,  and  predicts  the 
time  when  the  son  of  Saturn  shall  be  "  hurled  from  his  realm, 
a  forgotten  king."  We  see  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  learned  have  supposed  that  the  drama  shadowed 
forth  some  old-forgotten  creed  which  had  given  place  to  the 
more  cheerful  mythology  of  Greece — ^that  the  poet  was  array- 
ing before  the  imagination  of  his  cotemporaries  gigantic  phan- 
toms, summoned  from  the  wreck  of  a  vanished  ethical  system, 
in  which  such  greatness  found  congeniality  and  sympathy.  But 
if  so,  with  what  added  interest  must  the  dark  sublimity  and 
the  vast  conceptions  of  the  poet  have  appealed  to  those  who  in 
an  age  of  faith  listened  to  scenes  which  we  only  admire  for 
their  lofty  intellectual  tone  ! 

9* 


102  GEECIAI^^  PHILOSOPHY. 

But  it  is  impossible  for  us  in  this  day  to  enter  into  the  feel- 
ings of  an  Athenian  as  he  attended  the  representation  of  his 
national  tragedies.  The  life-giving  spirit  which  animated  them 
is  gone.  They  derived  their  freshness  and  beauty  from  the 
place  in  which  they  were  performed,  and  the  natural  associa- 
tion they  had  with  the  scenes  around — the  earth  and  sparkling 
sea — ^the  air  and  cloudless  skies  of  Athens.  We  may  imagine 
what  impression  it  gave  to  the  delivery,  when  the  subject  was 
the  woes  of  the  House  of  Atreus,  and  the  spectator  saw  in  the 
distance  the  hills  of  the  Peloponnesus,  beneath  which  the  hero 
of  the  tragedy  dwelt ;  or  when  the  acts  of  Media  were  un- 
folded before  them,  they  beheld  the  lofty  summit  of  Acrocor- 
inth,  beneath  which  they  were  performed ;  or  when  in  "  the 
Persians"  of  Eschylus  they  listened  to  the  description  of  the 
battle  of  Salamis,  with  the  bay  spread  out  before  them  in 
which  these  deeds  were  achieved,  and  the  trophies  on  the 
shore  which  were  reared  to  commemorate  their  triumph.* 

But  perhaps  nowhere  is  this  more  evident  than  in  the  noble 
opening  of  the  "  Agamemnon."  On  his  solitary  tower  the 
watchman  has  been  stationed  to  discern  the  beacon-fires  which 
were  to  be  the  signal  of  the  fall  of  Troy.  But  ten  years  pass 
away,  and  no  light  is  seen.  At  length,  it  comes — the  an- 
nouncement of  victory — and  thus  Clytemnestra  gives  the  pro- 
gress of  the  beacon  flame  from  Troy  to  Argos  : — 

*  WordswortNs  Greece,  p.  151. 


GEECIAI^  PHILOSOPHY.  103 


**  A  gleam — a  gleam — from  Ida's  height, 

By  the  fire-god  sent,  it  came  ; 
From  watch  to  watch  it  leap'd  that  light, 
As  a  rider  rode  the  flame ! 

It  shot  through  the  startled  sky, 

And  the  torch  of  that  blazing  glory 
Old  Lemnos  caught  on  high, 

On  its  holy  promontory, 
And  sent  it  on,  the  jocund  sign. 
To  Athens,  mount  of  Jove  divine. 

Wildly  the  while  it  rose  from  the  isle, 
So  that  the  might  of  the  journeying  light 

Skimm'd  over  the  back  of  the  gleaming  brine  I 

Farther  and  faster  speeds  it  on, 
Till  the  watch  that  keep  Macistus'  steep — 
See  it  burst  like  a  blazing  sun ! 
Doth  Macistus  sleep 
On  his  tower-clad  steep  ? 
No !  rapid  and  red  doth  the  wildfire  sweep, 
It  flashes  afar,  on  the  wayward  stream 
Of  the  wild  Em-ipus,  the  rushing  beam ! 
It  rouses  the  Ught  on  Messapion's  height, 
And  they  feed  its  breath  with  the  withered  heath. 
But  it  may  not  stay  1 
And  away — away — 
It  bounds  in  its  freshening  might. 
Silent  and  soon, 
like  a  broadened  moon. 
It  passes  in  sheen,  Asopus  green. 
And  bursts  on  Cithaeron  gray. 
The  warder  wakes  to  the  signal  rays. 
And  it  swoops  from  tlie  hiU  with  a  broader  blaze 
On — on  the  fiery  glory  rode — 
Thy  lonely  lake,  Gorgopis,  glowed — 
To  Megara's  Mount  it  came ; 


104  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

They  feed  it  again, 

And  it  streams  amain — 
A  giant  beard  of  flame  1 
The  headland  cliffs  that  darkly  down 
O'er  the  Saronic  waters  frown, 
Are  pass'd  with  the  swift  one's  lurid  stride, 
And  the  huge  rock  glares  on  the  glaring  tide  ; 
With  mightier  march  and  fiercer  power. 
It  gain'd  Arachne's  neighboring  tow&r — 
Thence  on  our  Argive  roof  its  rest  it  won, 
Of  Ida's  fire  the  long-descended  son ! 

Bright  harbinger  of  glory  and  of  joy  ! 
So  first  and  last  with  equal  honor  crown'd. 
In  solemn  feasts  the  race-torch  circles  round. 
And  these  my  heralds  !  this  my  Sign  of  Peace  1 
Lo  !  while  we  breathe,  the  victor  lords  of  Greece, 

Stalk  in  stem  tumult,  through  the  Ifalls  of  Troy  !"* 

We  read  this  splendid  passage,  but  to  us  it  is  a  mere  collec- 
tion of  names — most  of  them  invested  with  but  little  association 
to  our  minds.  But  how  different  was  it  to  those  who  hstened 
with  the  landscape  of  Greece  spread  out  before  their  eyes,  and 
to  whom  all  these  were  sacred  and  familiar  spots  !  And  as 
the  trilogy  goes  on,  the  scenes  assume  even  more  of  a  local 
interest.  Orestes  comes  to  Athens  to  plead  his  cause  in  the 
temple  of  Minerva — ^that  very  temple  on  which  now  they  are 
gazing — the  trial  by  the  gods  takes  place — he  is  absolved — and 
the  enraged  Eumenides,  soothed  by  Minerva,  conclude  to  dwell 
at  Athens,  and  be  the  benefactors  of  the  city  where  now  this 

story  is  represented. 
i 

*  Translated  by  Sir  E.  B.  Lyttoa 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  105 

We  may  be  permitted,  perhaps,  to  summon  up  one  more 
picture  of  Grecian  life.  It  is  a  wider  scene — the  gathering  of 
the  people  to  the  Olympic  Games.  Thither  the  Greeks  came 
up — as  the  Jews  to  their  Passover — for  a  national  festival  of 
all  their  tribes.  From  their  home  upon  the  continent — from 
the  shores  of  Asiatic  Ionia — ^from  the  colonies  which  luxurious 
Corinth  had  spread  through  the  Mediterranean — and  from  the 
islands  of  the  broad  -^gean,  they  have  assembled — ^their  jeal- 
ousies forgotten — their  petty  differences  laid  aside — every  feel- 
ing merged  in  the  thought  of  their  common  origin.  But  what 
emotions  sway  the  multitude,  as  they  gather  around  that  soU- 
tary  individual,  who,  worn  with  toil  and  travel,  stands  up 
among  them,  and  reads  passage  after  passage,  holding  them  in 
breathless  attention  ?  They  are  hstening  to  Heroditus,  who 
has  returned  from  his  long  sojourning  in  the  East  and  among 
the  antique  temples  of  Egypt,  and  he  holds  in  his  hand  that 
picturesque,  narrative  which  has  made  him  immortal.  He  has 
struck  the  chord  of  national  feeling,  and  Hstening  thousands 
shout  their  rapturous  applause.  The  young  Thucydides  is 
there — the  tears  which  fall  from  his  eyes  are  a  proud  homage 
to  the  writer's  genius — and  perhaps  the  remembrance  of  that 
hour  induced  him  in  after  years  himself  to  frame  the  tragic 
story  of  his  country's  fall — a  history  which  in  its  commence- 
ment he  declares  to  be  "an  everlastmg  heirloom  for  the  fu- 
ture."*    No  cold  or  critical  skepticism  is  found  in  that  vast 

*  KTYifta  es  aei.  lib.  1. 


106  GEEOIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

audience.  Inquisitive  and  credulous  as  children,  they  listen 
with  unwavering  faith  to  fictions,  whose  only  foundation  is  tra- 
dition, or  some  ancient  ballad.  With  them  there  is  no  ques- 
tioning or  doubt  with  regard  to  the  marvels  of  which  he  tells. 
They  shudder  at  the  description  of  each  strange  beast — each 
tribe  of  dwarfs  or  giants.  Of  the  monuments  of  those  ancient 
dynasties  which  had  passed  away — the  colossal  temples  of  Ip- 
sambul  and  Thebes — the  Babylonian  gardens — -and  the  myste- 
rious pyramids  of  Egypt — they  conceive  as  vividly  as  if  their 
own  eyes  had  seen  these  stupendous  wonders.  They  hear 
with  superstitious  awe  of  the  solemn  rites  of  the  Magi  on  their 
mountain -tops — of  deities  whose  very  name  no  lip  must  utter — 
and  of  the  dread  secrets  of  Egyptian  priests,  which  they  had 
graven  with  a  pen  of  iron  on  their  own  antique  monuments. 
All — ^the  romantic  legend — the  wild  adventure — the  popular 
superstition  which  now  excites  the  laughter  of  the  world — ^had 
to  them  a  living  and  truthful  reality. 

But  he  comes  to  scenes  which  awaken  an  interest  even  more 
intense.  It  is  the  glowing  narrative  of  their  country's  glory. 
They  trace  the  progress  of  the  Persian  host  as  it  spreads  over 
the  land,  and  its  fleet,  in  all  the  luxury  of  Asiatic  pomp,  sails 
slowly  along  the  deserted  shores.  Nature  seems  to  yield  to 
their  sway — the  mountains  are  cut  through — the  seas  are 
bridged — the  rivers  of  the  plain  are  drained  to  quench  the 
thirst  of  these  countless  thousands — while  desolation  and  fam- 
ine follow  in  their  path.  But  the  hour  of  retribution  is  at 
hand.     He  leads  his  hearers  to  the  pass  of  Thermopylae,  and 


GKECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  lOT 

with  stormy  brow  and  flashing  eye  they  hear  the  story  of  its 
gallant  deeds.  He  pictures  to  them  the  plain  of  Marathon — 
the  gay  armor  of  the  Medes,  "  whose  very  pame  in  Greece  had 
hitherto  excited  terror" — the  solemn  hush  for  vows,  and  sacri- 
fice, and  prayer — the  loud  clang  of  the  trumpets — the  desper- 
ate onset — the  millions  of  Asia  scattered  like  dust  before  the 
wind — when  suddenly  his  voice  is  drowned  by  the  deafening 
response  of  excited  thousands.  The  children  of  those  who  won 
that  fight  cannot  restrain  their  shouts  of  patriotic  enthusiasm. 
Again  the  scene  has  changed,  and  he  points  them  to  the  Bay 
of  Salamis — the  serried  order  of  the  Grecian  fleet — ^the  furious 
attack — the  fljdng  Persians — and  the  grief  and  indignation  of 
Xerxes,  as,  from  his  lofty  throne  upon  the  shore,  far  off  and 
impotent,  he  saw  his  power  buried  beneath  the  waters.  Look 
at  the  strong  contortions  of  countenance  with  which  they  hear 
the  tale,  and  the  impassioned  gestures  in  which  they  give  vent 
to  their  emotions.  Do  you  wonder  ?  Those  wild  hands,  now 
flung  upward  in  delight,  grasped  spear  and  sword  on  that 
memorable  day.  See  the  multitude  turn  from  the  historian 
with  one  spontaneous  move,  to  hail  a  majestic  personage  who 
sits  among  the  audience.  Can  they  withhold  their  praise  ? 
That  is  Themistocles,  the  leader  of  their  fleet,  when,  in  the 
words  of  a  warrior-poet  who  fought  that  day — 

'^frorn  every  Greek  with  glad  acclaim 


Burst  forth  the  song  of  war,  whose  lofty  notes 


108  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

The  echo  of  the  rocks  of  Salamis  retiirn'd, 
Spreading  dismay  through  Persia's  hosts."* 

Such  was  life  at  Athens,  and  you  can  perceive  how  necessa- 
rily such  a  training  must  have  made  its  inhabitants  a  people 
different  from  any  thing  else  the  world  has  ever  seen.  They 
were  restless,  active,  and  audacious — turbulent  when  any  ex- 
citing cause  aroused  them — yet  most  cultivated  in  repose. 
Biilliant  of  wit,  versatile,  disputatious,  and  talkative — ^they  had 
the  very  characteristics  to  produce  arrogance  and  pride.  We 
have  endeavored  to  sketch  them  in  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
periods  of  their  history,  when  the  Persian  war  had  closed,  and 
that  refinement  and  elegance  been  imported,  which  perhaps 
reached  its  height  in  the  later  age  of  Pericles.  Yet  we  know 
not  that  at  the  advent  of  Christianity  they  had  altered  in  any 
of  those  marked  traits  of  character  which  would  affect  their 
reception  of  the  faith.  Their  nationality,  it  is  true,  was  gone, 
and,  hke  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  were  crushed  beneath  the 
Roman  yoke.  The  Greek  realized  it,  and  feeling  that  no  new 
day  of  Marathon  was  to  dawn  upon  him,  he  Hved  on  the  recol- 
lections of  his  ancient  glory.  The  spirit  of  poetry  still  hngered 
in  his  land — ^its  venerable  mountains,  its  legendary  streams,  and 
its  sacred  groves  were  there — and  he  turned  with  as  much 
reverence  as  ever  to  the  heights  of  Phyle  and  the  unfading 
glories  of  the  Ilyssus.     Perhaps,  too,  sorrow  for  his  departed 

*  jEschylus,  Pence,  ^Qh. 


*t 


GRECIAIS^  PHILOSOPHY.  109 

greatness  induced  him  to  cling  with  a  firmer  grasp  to  all  that 
remained  to  speak  of  the  past  and  its  hallowed  associations. 
If  the  Athenians  had  lost  any  traits  of  character,  they  were 
those  which  were  most  lofty  and  high-minded — those  which 
belonged  to  freemen,  and  had  trained  the  heroes  of  Salamis 
and  Platsea.  The  closer  intimacy  with  the  East,  particularly 
with  their  Ionian  colonies,  introduced  a  higher  style  of  luxury 
and  a  greater  degree  of  Asiatic  effeminacy.  The  light  of  the 
heroic  age  glimmered  more  feebly  on  the  banks  of  the  Cephis- 
sus,  and  the  dwellers  there  were  losing  in  each  generation  more 
of  the  stern  features  of  their  Homeric  ancestors.  We  can  trace 
the  progress  of  this  feeling  even  in  their  Drama,  as  they  grad- 
ually turned  from  the  lofty  sublimity  of  jEschylus,  divorced  as 
it  is  from  all  the  softer  erpotions  of  our  nature,  and  popular 
taste  began  to  incline  to  the  passionate  display  and  more  earth- 
ly sentiments  which  marked  the  tragedies  of  Euripides. 

We  believe,  then,  that  when  the  Apostle  entered  Athens, 
life  there  was  as  vivid  and  intellectual  as  of  old,  but  even  more 
graceful,  and  certainly  more  voluptuous.  And  we  can  see, 
from  what  has  already  been  said,  the  force  of  that  single  sen- 
tence in  which  St.  Luke  sums  up  the  occupation  of  its  inhabit- 
ants : — "  All  the  Athenians  and  strangers  which  were  there, 
spent  their  time  in  nothing  else,  but  either  to  tell,  or  to  hear 
some  new  thing."*  But  was  it  easy  to  preach  to  such  the 
humblins:  truths  of  our  faith  ?     And  did  it  not  seem  to  be  a 


*  Acts,  xviL  21. 
10 


110  GEECIAIT  PHILOSOPHY. 

mighty  conflict  into  which  Christianity  was  entering,  to  attempt 
to  gain  the  mastery  over  this  versatile  intellect,  and  to  impart 
to  it  an  entirely  new  direction  ? 

We  proceed,  then,  to  the  consideration  of  that  philosophy 
which  Christianity  encountered  at  Athens,  and  which  had 
there,  if  not  its  origin,  at  least  its  firmest  seat.  And  in  at- 
tempting it,  even  so  far  as  to  show  its  influence  on  the  rising 
faith,  we  feel  how  utterly  inadequate  must  be  any  account 
which  can  be  compressed  into  the  narrow  hmits  of  this  chap- 
ter. "We  can  but  give  its  outline  most  briefly  sketched.  Its 
history,  if  faithfully  written,  would  be  the  history  of  the  hu- 
man mind — its  mighty  struggle — and  often  its  sad  defeat,  as 
centuries  went  by,  and  the  goal  which  gigantic  minds  aimed  to 
reach,  seemed  equally  distant  after  their  long  journeying  over 
the  arid  desert.  It  would  be  a  picture  of  man's  sublime  at- 
tempts, yet  fearful  failures — 

**  Of  poor  Humanity's  afflicted  will 
Struggling  in  vain  with  ruthless  destiny." 

It  is  impossible  to  discover  the  first  beginnings  of  Philoso- 
phy. Its  fountain  is  like  that  of  the  mysterious  Nile,  springing 
up  in  a  distant  and  unknown  region,  the  theme  of  visionary 
story  and  the  subject  of  curious  speculation.  We  naturally, 
however,  turn  to  the  East  when  we  attempt  to  trace  the  germ 
of  that  wisdom  which  in  a  fairer  form  at  last  came  forth  from 
the  shores  of  Greece,  to  challenge  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
Meditation  is  as  peculiarly  the  characteristic  of  Asia  as  action 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  Ill 

is  of  Western  Europe.  It  is  a  trait  increased  by  the  lassitude 
produced  by  climate,  and  that  inert  abstraction  which  is  the 
peculiar  temperament  of  the  inhabitants.  It  is  a  taste  as  dis- 
tinctive of  the  fervent  suns  of  tropical  regions  as  are  the  aro- 
matics  of  Arabia  or  the  spices  of  India.  To  withdraw  the  soul 
from  the  senses — to  divorce  the  exterior  from  the  inner  man — 
to  repose  during  lengthened  periods  upon  a  single  idea,  with- 
out a  wish  for  progression  or  change — to  break  entirely  away 
from  the  visible  world — these  are  the  pleasures  of  the  Orien- 
tals.* It  was  this  craving  after  speculation  which  led  in  later 
ages  to  the  dreams  of  Gnosticism,  and  the  fatal  heresy  of  the 
Manichseans.  It  was  this  which  sent  men  forth  to  "  the  dead 
and  voiceless  wilderness,"  that  they  might  commune  with  their 
own  hearts  and  be  still — which  peopled  with  monks  the  deserts 
of  Egypt  and  the  dreary  wastes  which  border  the  Dead  Sea.  The 
East,  therefore,  from  the  earliest  period  of  recorded  time,  was 
the  home  of  thought,  and,  of  course,  the  cradle  of  contempla- 
tive philosophy. 

And  with  the  same  feeling  which  declares  that  no  man  is  a 
prophet  in  his  own  country,  the  imaginative  Greeks  were  ac- 
customed to  turn  for  what  was  grand  and  striking  to  those 
dim  and  shadowy  lands,  which  their  very  ignorance  invested 
with  influence.  They  hstened  with  awe  to  those  dark  and 
early  oracles,  which  contained  the  first  deductions  of  human 
wisdom.     There  seemed  to  be  in  the  Athenian  character  a 


*  NcU.  Hist  of  ErUhusiasm,  p.  20*7. 


112  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

sympathy  for  the  speculative  genius  of  the  East.  The  mysti- 
cism, born  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  or  among  the  fire- 
worshippers  of  Persia,  reappeared  in  a  new  form  on  the  banks 
of  the  Nile,  and  tinged  the  dreamy  Platonism  of  Greece. 
There  was  something,  indeed,  from  the  very  contrast,  fascina- 
ting to  this  restless  and  reasoning  people,  in  the  tranquil  ab- 
straction of  the  East.  They  looked  to  Chaldea  as  the  fountain 
of  human  wisdom — and  the  dim  speculations  of  her  priests,  as 
from  their  towers  they  watched  the  hosts  of  heaven,  and 
sought  to  learn  their  influence  on  the  destinies  of  this  lower 
world,  or  selected  corporeal  tokens  as  the  types  of  their  phil- 
osophical creed,  were  received  by  them  with  reverence,  as  the 
very  inspirations  of  the  Divinity.  The  first  movings,  indeed, 
of  the  human  reason — its  first  gropings  in  the  misty  twilight — 
were  to  form  some  system  of  philosophy.  Its  first  effort  was 
to  solve  the  enigmas  of  human  life.  The  creative  breath  of 
philosophy  is  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  and  this  turns  most  naturally 
to  those  solemn  mysteries  which  concern  man's  spiritual  in- 
terests. Thus  arose  these  speculations  of  an  elder  wisdom, 
which  passed  through  the  channel  of  the  Ionian  colonies  to 
the  schools  of  Athens,  and  were  there  reproduced  in  a  new  and 
more  luxuriant  form.  The  dreams  of  these  Eastern  sages  were 
shaped  into  systems  of  poetic  beauty,  and  the  Ideal  was 
changed  into  the  Practical. 

But,  above  all,  Egypt  was  to  them  the  land  of  wonders. 
There  was  something  in  the  venerable  antiquity  which  marked 
her  colossal  temples,  her  mysterious  pyramids,  and  the  won- 


GEECIAJSr  PHILOSOPHY.    (|TJUIWl3 
-J^-_- 

derful  sepulchral  palaces  of  her  departed  kings,  wsi&n  seemed 
to  impress  the  lively  Greeks.  All  there  was  rigid  and  antique, 
and  they  were  even  awed  by  the  dark  symbolism  which  cha- 
racterized the  teaching  of  her  priests.  Pythagoras  spent 
many  years  in  Egypt,  and  there  he  learned  that  doctrine  of  a 
Metempsychosis  which  marks  his  system.  Plato,  too,  in  the 
words  of  Valerius  Maximus,  "  wandered  along  the  winding 
banks  of  the  Nile,  himself  a  disciple  to  the  old  men  of  Egypt." 
And  it  is  curious  to  mark  how  the  dreamy  mysticism  of  that 
land  was  changed,  when  incorporated  with  the  elements  of 
Grecian  character — how  much  more  practical  it  became — how, 
\v^ithout  losing  any  thing  of  its  lofty  spiritual  tone,  it  abandoned 
the  region  of  mere  meditation  and  mingled  itself  up  with  the 
common  interests  of  mankind.  Heroditus  tells  us,  as  the 
result  of  his  researches,  that  Greece  even  imported  from  the 
Nile  the  names  of  almost  all  her  deities  ;*  and  interwoven  as 
were  the  philosophy  and  theology  of  Egypt — the  priests  being 
instructors  in  both — this  could  not  have  happened  without  a 
sensible  influence  being  exercised  over  the  intellectual  character 
of  the  Greeks.  Through  all  ages,  indeed,  the  lore  of  Egypt 
stamped  its  impress  upon  the  systems  of  the  Academy,  the 
Porch,  and  the  Garden.  The  dark  enigmas  of  Eleusis,  in 
which  religion  and  philosophy  imited,  had  been  celebrated 
for  a  thousand  years  in  the  colossal  temples  of  Thebes  before 
they  were   transported   to   the  shores  of   Attica;  and  from 


*  Herod,  ii.  c.  1. 
10* 


114  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

thence  also  came  the  mystery  of  the  Anaglyph — that  secret 
writmg  known  only  to  the  priesthood.*  Thus  Egypt  was  the 
mother  of  Athens.  From  her  came  those  dread  rites  which 
embodied  the  maxims  of  early  wisdom — maxims  derived  from 
elder  dynasties — but  whose  antiquity  was  claimed  for  Isis, 
when  the  priesthood  made  for  her  the  boast — "  None  among 
mortals  hath  taken  off  my  veil !"  These  dark  and  mystic 
creeds  in  Greece  expanded  into  the  graces  of  intellectual  hfe, 
and  those  many  systems  of  philosophy  which  marked  the  pro- 
gress of  the  human  mind. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  spirit  of  conjecture  was  first  awakened 
m  the  schools  of  Athens.  Henceforth,  could  we  trace  its  pro- 
gress, we  should  find  it  to  be  one  series  of  struggles  as  men 
groped  their  way  on  through  the  darkness — each  age  working 
out  some  hard-wrought  conclusion — and  this  serving  as  a 
position  from  which  its  successors  were  to  set  forth  on  their 
journey,  or  else  as  a  problem  which  the  next  generation  was 
to  overthrow.     It  is  a  picture  of 

"  Spirits  yearning  in  desire 
To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought."f 

We  may  begin  with  the  teaching  of  Pythagoras.  His  own 
history  is  enshrined  in  legends,  which  impart  to  it  a  romantic 


*  This  was  a  different  system  from  the  Hieroglyph,  which  could  be 
read  generally  by  the  educated  classes. 
t 


•  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  115 

interest.  Returning  to  his  own  countrymen  after  long  study 
in  the  venerated  yet  mysterious  learning  of  Egypt,  and  affect- 
ing to  receive  instruction  from  the  inspired  ministrants  of 
Delphi,  ho  was  prepared  to  wield  an  influence  over  the  minds 
of  his  hearers  which  no  one  else  had  enjoyed.  The  very 
wonders  which  tradition  related  of  his  life — the  fabulous  glory 
which,  in  after  ages,  rested  upon  it — show  that  his  career  was 
that  of  no  ordinary  man.  His  generation  must  have  listened 
with  no  little  reverence  to  one,  to  whom  they  ascribed  authority 
over  the  powers  of  Nature,  and  to  whom  it  was  said,  "  the 
harmony  of  the  spheres  was  audible  music."  He  stirred  up, 
indeed,  the  intellect  of  Greece  and  Italy,  and,  rising  from  the 
preceptor  to  the  legislator,  overturned  the  government  of  the 
country  in  which  he  had  made  his  home.  It  must  have  been 
an  august  philosophy  which  could  implant  the  principles  thus 
to  convulse  entire  nations  ;  yet  he  taught  only  in  secret,  for  he 
could  not  be  led  to  beheve  in  the  fitness  of  the  multitude  to 
receive  the  truth.  Immense,  therefore,  as  was  his  personal 
influence  over  those  who  knew  him,  we  are  now  obliged  to 
learn  his  doctrines  from  the  general  tendency  of  his  disciples* 
speculations.  We  feel  that  we  cannot  grasp  his  theory  of  the 
occult  properties  of  numbers,  and  the  language  in  which  his 
followers  reveal  it,  sounds  to  us  like  the  dreamy  speculations 
by  the  alchemists  of  the  middle  ages.  But  apart  from  this, 
his  mild  and  simple  rules — the  doctrine  of  self-command  being 
the  centre  of  all  his  instructions — form  a  system  of  ethics  ad- 
mirable in  itself.     Yet  as  time  passed  on,  all  this  became  cor- 


116  aREOIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

rupted  or  obscure — ^men,  as  usual,  lost  in  the  symbol  a  view  of 
the  truth  it  was  intended  to  shadow  forth — and  the  influence 
of  his  great  name  was  borrowed  to  sanction  perversions  which 
he  himself  would  have  condemned.  Thus,  at  the  dawn  of 
Christianity,  the  philosophical  school  of  Pythagoras  was 
arrayed  against  it,  and  among  those  works  which  the  heathen- 
ism of  that  age  produced  to  combat  the  influence  of  the 
rising  faith,  was  the  life  of  its  founder  by  Jamblicus,  portray- 
ing to  his  readers  the  Pagan  philosopher  as  a  nobler  example 
than  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

Among  the  other  schools  of  Greece  the  spirit  of  poetry  long 
exercised  its  influence  over  the  reasonings  of  philosophy.  Xen- 
ophanes  was  the  first  who  arrayed  himself  against  "  the  sunny 
legends"  of  Homer.  Yet  he  did  so,  not  because  he  was  dead 
to  their  poetic  beauty,  but  because  of  the  false  theology  they 
contained.  He  had  looked  abroad  over  nature  and  learned  the 
lesson  of  God's  Unity,  and  in  the  deep  sincerity  and  boundless 
reverence  of  his  nature,  he  could  not  believe  in  a  divinity  gifted 
with  human  attributes.  He  seemed  to  have  imagined  to  him- 
self a  Deity  whom  graven  images  could  not  represent ;  and 
Aristotle,  in  a  single  sentence,  has  given  his  argument  and 
conclusion : — "  Casting  his  eyes  upward  at  the  immensity  of 
heaven,  he  declared  that  The  One  is  God."  And  the  attri- 
butes in  which  he  arrays  Him  are — all  hearing,  all  sight, 
ALL  THOUGHT.  But,  Unlike  Pythagoras,  he  had  faith  in  Hu- 
manity. He  labored  for  the  many.  He  had  looked  upon  ex- 
istence with  infinite  sadness — he  had  seen  the  primal  error 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  117 

which  most  of  all  degraded  it — and  he  went  forth  through  his 
whole  hfe  to  wrestle  with  it.  A  poet  himself,  and  a  rhapso- 
dist,  for  three  quarters  of  a  century  he  wandered  through  many- 
lands — ^like  the  Jongleurs  and  Troubadours  of  the  middle  ages, 
though  with  a  higher  aim — uttering  his  voice  to  raise  up  within 
•  men  a  recognition  of  the  Divine. 

This  was  a  great  advance,  and  hence  arose  the  Eleatic  school, 
and  its  disciples,  Parmenides,  Melissus,  Zeno,  and  Heraclitus. 
Parmenides  seems  to  have  trodden  in  the  steps  of  Xenophanes ; 
but  believing  from  his  reason  that  there  is  naught  existing  but 
the  One,  while  his  sense  taught  him  that  there  are  many  thmgs, 
he  was  led  to  the  conviction  of  the  Duality  of  human  thought 
— ^the  two  principles,  one  to  satisfy  the  reason,  and  the  other 
to  accord  with  the  explanations  of  sense.*  This  was  the  foun- 
dation of  idealism.  It  was  a  metaphysical  doctrine,  however, 
which  in  other  hands  soon  passed  into  mysticism  and  error. 

Then  came  the  lofty  spirituahsm  of  the  Ionian  school,  and 
Anaxagoras,  living  in  the  most  brilliant  period  of  Grecian  his- 
tory— that  which  followed  the  battle  of  Thermopylae — was 
enabled  to  appeal  to  intellects  which  were  afterwards  to  rule 
the  destinies  of  Athens.  His  doctrines  struck  at  the  root  of 
the  Hellenic  worship,  substituting  in  place  of  the  multitude  of 
gods.  One  IntelUgence,  and  reducing  every  thing  else  to  mate- 
rial and  physical  causes.  The  philosopher  shared  the  usual 
fate  of  reformers,  and,  driven  into  exile  by  those  whose  preju- 

*  Lewe^  Hist,  of  Philos.  I  89. 


118  aKECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


dices  he  had  assailed,  died  in  a  foreign  land.  But  his  influence 
survived  his  departure,  and  he  who  had  formed  the  minds  ot 
Pericles,  Euripides,  and  Socrates,  had  done  enough  to  stamp 
his  influence  on  the  world. 

We  pass  by  the  brilliant  yet  dangerous  school  of  the  Soph- 
ists, about  whom,  indeed,  all  information  is  unsatisfactory.  We 
learn  their  tenets  only  from  their  opponents — even  Plato's  ac- 
count is  evidently  a  caricature — and  the  combatants  in  an  in- 
tellectual warfare  seldom  do  justice  to  those  arrayed  against 
them.  Yet  the  disputatious,  quibbling  nature  of  the  Greeks 
was  one  to  which  their  arts  would  readily  commend  themselves. 
They  were  brilhant  and  showy  rhetoricians,  but  their  teaching 
was  the  preference  of  expression  to  truth — the  power  of  achiev- 
ing a  victory,  no  matter  on  which  side  the  truth  might  be. 
They  seemed,  indeed,  to  deny  that  there  was  any  Eternal  and 
Immutable  Truth,  or  that  there  were  any  such  things  as  Right 
and  Wrong,  otherwise  than  by  convention.  It  was  a  shallow 
skepticism,  which  passed  away  when  the  deeper  philosophy  of 
Socrates  asserted  its  claims. 

But  of  him — the  martyr  for  Truth — ^the  world  has  heard 
more,  perhaps,  than  of  any  other  who  taught  at  Athens.  Yet 
is  it  not  more  a  name  to  point  the  moral  of  a  schoolboy  essay, 
than  an  intelligent  understanding  of  what  he  beheved  and  why 
he  suffered  ?  He  was  the  patient  searcher  after  Truth.  To 
her,  as  to  his  soul's  mistress,  he  dedicated  all  the  powers  of 
his  expanded  mind,  and  worshipped  her  with  a  true  devotion. 
And  if  the  results  he  reached  are  now  famihar  to  the  children 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  119 

in  our  schools,  the  philosopher  no  less  deserves  immortal 
honor.  It  is  because  such  men  as  he  labored  in  the  fields  of 
intellect,  that  the  great  truths,  so  strange  to  his  generation, 
have  become  the  common-places  of  to-day.  Look  at  him — 
rude  and  ungainly  in  appearance — compared  by  his  cotempo- 
raries  to  Silenus — wandering  through  the  streets  absorbed  in 
meditation,  or  disputing  in  the  market-place.  Yet  he  who 
lingers  to  hear  "  the  old  man  eloquent,"  is  caught  by  the 
witchery  of  his  conversation,  and  even  the  brilliant  Alcibiades 
declared — "  I  stop  my  ears,  as  from  the  Syrens,  and  flee  away 
as  fast  as  possible,  that  I  may  not  sit  down  beside  him  and 
grow  old  in  hstening  to  his  talk." 

We  will  not  speak  of  the  method  of  Inductive  reasoning  on 
which  his  intellectual  fame  is  based,*  but  rather  turn  to  the 
'subhme  truths  he  held  which  concern  man's  moral  interests. 
He  taught  that  God  is  One — perfect  in  Himself — immutable — ' 
the  Author  of  the  existence  and  welfare  of  every  creature  ;f 
that  this  Being,  not  chance,  made  the  world  and  all  that  it 
contains. J;  And  yet  what  darkness  shrouded  even  his  mind, 
when  he  came  to  the  borders  of  the  Unseen  world  !  "  It  is 
now,"  he  said,  "  time  that  we  depart,  I  to  die,  you  to  live  ;  but 
which  has  the  better  destiny  is  unknown  to  all  except  the 
God."§  And  his  last  words  show  that  he  had  not  yet  entirely 
• 

*  "  There  are  two  things  of  which  Socrates  must  justly  be  regarded  as 
the  author  ;  the  Jndiictive  Reasoning  and  Abstract  JDeJinitions"  Aris- 
totle, 3fet.  xiii.  c.  4. 

+  Plato  in  Phasdon.         \  Plato  in  Timceo.        §  Plato  in  Apolog. 


120  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

emancipated  his  own  mind  from  the  errors  against  which  he 
argued.  *'  0  Crito  !"  said  he,  "  I  owe  .^Esculapius  a  cock,  pay 
it — do  not  neglect  it."* 

From  Socrates  to  his  noblest  pupil  the  transition  is  natural. 
It  would,  however,  require  a  volume  to  give  any  idea  of  the 
writings  of  Plato — ^his  ideal  theory — his  dialectics — and  his 
system  of  ethics.  He  was  one  of  those  whose  whole  soul 
seemed  pervaded  with  a  sense  of  the  Beautiful.  We  see  in 
every  part  of  his  works  that  he  was  possessed  by 

"  A  presence  that  disturbed  him  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts ;  a  sense  subhme 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man : 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  aU  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things."  f 

It  is  thus  that  he  has  come  down  to  us,  and  in  this  light  the 
world  chiefly  knows  him.  Thousands  who  are  entirely  unac- 
quainted with  his  theology  or  his  ethics,;];  regard  him  as  having 


*  Plato  in  Phcedon.  f  Wordsworth,  "  Tintern  Abbey P 

\  Plato  wrote  also  tragedies,  lyrics,  and  epigrams.  Some  of  tlie  latter 
only  have  been  preserved.  ^  One  of  them,  quoted  in  Lewes'  "  Hist,  of  Phi- 
losophy," is  so  beautiful  that  we  cannot  forbear  giving  it : — 

aoTipag  tlaaQptii  dcTTijp  ijidg'     eWe  ytvoi^r)v 

"  Thou  gazest  on  the  stars,  my  Life !     Ah !  gladly  would  I  be 
Yon  starry  skies,  with  thousand  eyes,  that  I  might  gaze  on  thee !" 


aEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  121 

conceived  the  idea  of  the  rb  kuUv,  "  the  Beautiful,"  and  the 
mere  mention  of  his  name  calls  up,  they  scarcely  know  why, 
visions  of  splendor  before  their  eyes.  But  what  did  Plato 
mean  by  this  ?  He  considered  Beauty  as  a  revelation  of  the 
Divinity  in  the  things  around  us — not  that  appearance  which 
depends  on  symmetry  of  form  or  harmony  of  color — but  the 
radiant  image  of  Truth  in  whatever  it  can  be  seen.  And  the 
loftiness  of  his  view  can  be  learned  from  his  description  of  those 
whose  eyes  are  sealed  against  this  spiritual  Beauty.  "They," 
he  says,  "  who  are  not  fresh  from  heaven,  or  who  have  been 
corrupted,  are  not  vehemently  impelled  towards  that  Beauty 
which  is  aloft,  when  they  see  that  upon  earth  which  is  called 
by  its  name.  They  do  not,  therefore,  venerate  and  worship  it, 
but  give  themselves  up  to  physical  pleasures."*  And  love, 
with  him,  was  the  intense  desire  of  the  soul  for  this  lofty  Beau- 
ty— the  longing  of  the  spirit  for  that  whioh  is  hke  unto  itself. 
Love,  then,  is  the  bond  which  unites  the  Divine  and  the  earth- 
ly. But  the  defect  with  Plato  was,  that  he  could  see  no  nobler 
end  in  life  than  that  of  famiharizing  the  mind  with  the  Beauti- 
ful, the  Good,  and  the  True. 

And  yet  no  writer,  without  the  pale  of  the  Church,  that 
has  ever  lived,  has  exercised  so  marked  an  influence  on  the 
spirit  of  Christianity  as  this  Greek  philosopher.  There  was 
something  so  fascinating  about  his  elevating  doctrines,  that  men 
clung  to  them  even  after  they  had  received  the  purer  hght  of 


*  Plato  in  Phced. 
11 


122  aRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

our  faith ;  and  if  St.  Jerome  could  hear,  in  vision,  a  voice  say- 
ing to  him,  "  Thou  art  no  Christian,  thou  art  a  Ciceronian,"* 
there  was  many  an  early  writer  of  the  Church  to  whom  the 
charge  might  be  addressed,  "  Thou  art  no  Christian,  thou  art 
a  Platonist."  Eusebius  names  him,  as  "  the  only  Grreek  who 
has  penetrated  into  the  antechamber  of  Christian  truth." 
Justin  Martyr,  Clement,  Origen,  and  Augustine  warmly  ex- 
press their  admiration — and  Celsus  impiously  declares,  that 
Christ  has  borrowed  from  Plato.  We  know  not,  therefore,  a 
nobler  work  by  one  who  understood  the  spirit  of  Platonism, 
than  to  trace  its  influence  from  the  time  when  its  followers  at- 
tempted to  engraft  it  on  the  New  Faith,  and  to  show  how 
in  all  ages  its  subtle  spirit  has  acted  on  the  belief  of  the 
world.f 

But  this  very  fascination  rendered  Platonism  a  most  dan- 
gerous antagonist  5f  Christianity.  It  seemed  to  satisfy  that 
thirsting  after  something  nobler  than  heathenism  taught,  which 
must  be  a  natural  characteristic  of  the  mind.  Plato  united  in 
his  system  all  the  conflicting  tendencies  of  the  age,  selecting 
from  the  works  of  his  predecessors  each  portion  of  truth  that 


*  Ad  Eustach.  Epist.  xviii 

f  There  is  a  work  on  this  subject  in  German,  which  we  beUeve  has  never 
been  translated.  Das  Christliche  in  Plato  und  in  der  Platonischen  Phi- 
losophie,  entwicTcelt  und  hervorgehohen  von  D.  O.  Ackerm,ann,  Archidia- 
konus  zu  Jena,  1835.  (The  Christian  Element  in  Plato,  and  the  Platonic 
Philosophy,  developed  and  exhibited,  by  D.  C.  Ackerman,  Archdeacon 
at  Jena,  1835.) 


GEECIAN  PHELOSOPHY.  123 

they  had  discovered,  and  reconciling  these  portions  in  one 
general  doctrine.  In  that  vast  system  all  skepticism  and  all 
faith  found  acceptance  ;  the  skepticism  was  corrected,  and  the 
faith  was  strengthened  by  more  solid  arguments.*  Men, 
therefore,  were  willing  to  rest  in  the  higher  philosophy  which 
he  taught — the  subjugation  of  sense  to  reason,  and  the  eman- 
cipation of  what  was  purely  spiritual  in  man  from  the  degra- 
ding fetters  of  the  material.  They  inquired,  what  more  than 
this  could  Christianity  teach  us  ? 

There  was  much,  indeed,  in  the  system  of  Plato  which  har- 
monized with  the  doctrines  of  our  faith.  For  instance,  in  one 
of  the  most  striking  of  his  myths,  he  clearly  declares  the  fact 
of  the  fall.  It  is  thus  that  he  gives  his  view  of  human  nature : — 
"  We  may  compare  it  to  a  chariot,  with  a  pair  of  winged 
horses  and  a  driver.  In  the  souls  of  the  gods,  the  horses  and 
the  driver  are  entirely  good :  in  other  souls  only  partially  so, 
one  of  the  horses  excellent,  the  other  vicious.  The  business 
therefore  of  the  driver  is  extremely  difficult  and  troublesome. "f 
His  views,  too,  of  the  Supreme  Being  are  marked  by  sublimity. 
'*  We  are  wrong,"  he  says,  "  in  speaking  of  the  Divine  Essence, 
to  say,  it  was — it  shall  be;  these  forms  of  time  do  not  suit 
eternity.  It  is — this  is  its  attribute."];  So  it  was,  too,  with 
his  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  We  trace  in  it  the  truth  of  what 
Josephus  declares,  that  Plato  obtained  much  of  his  theological 


*  Lewes'  Hist,  of  Philos.  ii  81.  \  Plato  in  Fhced. 

\  Plato  in  Tim. 


124  GKECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


knowledge  from  the  books  of  Moses.  He  must,  indeed,  have 
been  acquainted  with  the  Jewish  Trinity,  or  the  ancient  Cabala, 
for  his  doctrine  so  nearly  resembled  that  of  the  Christian  sys- 
tem, that  his  three  persons,  or  hypostases,  are  never  by  him 
accounted  as  created  beings,  hut  are  set  above  all  creatures.* 
He  concentrated  and  personified  Infinite  Goodness,  Infinite 
Wisdom,  and  Infinite  Vital  Energy  in  the  fountain  of  his 
Divinity.     These  are  the  three  Essences  of  his  Trinity. 

It  is  pleasant,  indeed,  to  find  oases  like  these  in  the  dreary 
wastes  of  Grecian  Philosophy,  and  these  were  the  points 
which  drew  the  attention  of  early  Christian  writers,  and  in- 
duced them  to  claim  Plato  as  almost  one  of  themselves.  Yet 
still  much  is  wanting,  and  there  is  "a  great  gulf"  between 
his  theology  and  that  taught  by  St.  Paul.  It  aims  nobly,  but 
reaches  not  the  goal  which  it  seeks.  It  needs — what  is  the 
very  heart  and  soul,  the  living  pulse  of  Christianity — the  doc- 
trine of  the  Incarnation.  We  find  this  defect  visible  in  every 
department  of  heathen  philosophy.  Its  conceptions  of  the 
holiness  of  God  were  feeble,  because  He  had  not  been  brought 
before  them  with  the  living  distinctness  of  the  Christian  sys- 
tem. Its  loftiest  view  was  the  apotheosis  of  man — not  the  In- 
carnation of  God.  The  distinguishing  element  of  the  true 
faith  is  the  power  of  redemption — its  healing  influence — its 
representation  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  purest,  noblest  life  the 
world  has  ever  seen — the  only  one  pervaded  by  the  very  ful- 

*  See  Bishop  Horsley's  Letters  to  Dr.  Priestley,  Let.  xiii 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  125 

ness  of  holiness.  And  no  system  Avliicli  wants  this,  can  achieve 
the  recovery  of  man  from  his  fall  and  ruin.  We  read  the  lofty 
thoughts  of  Plato,  and  still  we  are  reminded  of  the  words  of 
St.  Augustine,  "  Apud  Ciceronem  et  Platonem,  aliosque  ejus- 
modi  scriptores,  multa  sunt  acute  dicta  et  leniter  calentia,  sed 
in  iis  omnibus  hoc  non  invenio,  *  Yenite  ad  me.'  "  There  is  no 
Cross — no  true  abasement  of  the  heart — nothing  to  bring  man 
in  humility  once  more  into  union  with  God. 

Aristotle  was  for  twenty  years  the  disciple  of  Plato,  and  of 
him  his  master  remarked,  **  Aristotle  is  the  mind  of  my 
school."  Numbers  resorted  to  his  school  in  the  Lyceum,  and 
as,  in  his  restless  temperament,  he  walked  up  and  down  its 
shady  paths,  crowds  of  admiring  pupils  followed,  and  hung 
with  dehght  upon  his  words.  But  Aristotle — wide  as  has  been 
for  ages  the  influence  he  exercised  over  the  human  mind — is 
now  known  for  his  logic  and  metaphysics,  not  for  any  effect  he 
produced  upon  the  ethics  of  the  world.  The  universal  state- 
ment has  been,  that  Plato  was  an  Ideahst,  and  Aristotle  a  Ma- 
terialist. Later  German  writers,  like  Hegel,  have  denied  the 
truth  of  this  assertion,  but  certainly,  when  we  pass  from  the 
writings  of  the  former  to  those  of  the  latter,  there  is  a  great 
transition.  There  is  not  the  lofty  spiritual  tone,  nor  the  same 
high  aim.  Perhaps,  then,  we  may  safely  say,  that  he  sac- 
rificed ethics  to  metaphysics  and  physics.  He  suffered  the 
latter  to  usurp  that  attention  which  Plato  bestowed  upon  the 
former. 

We  come  now  to  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  last  Epoch 
11* 


126  GRECIAN^  PHILOSOPHY. 

of  Grecian  Philosophy,  before  the  dawn  of  Christianity.  The 
skepticism  of  the  Sophists  had  been  refuted  by  the  reasoning 
of  Socrates,  but  now  the  tide  of  doubt  flowed  back,  and  the 
protest  against  faith  was  made  with  more  terrible  power.  The 
age  of  disbelief  had  come,  and  Pyrro,  after  his  return  from  In- 
dia with  the  expedition  of  Alexander,  began  to  question  the 
origin  of  knowledge  until  doubt  became  irresistible.  He 
founded  the  School  of  the  Skeptics,  and  his  tenets  infected  the 
Epicureans,  the  Stoics,  and  the  members  of  the  New  Academy, 
so  that  Grecian  Philosophy  closed  in  an  utter  want  of  faith  in 
Truth  or  in  human  endeavor.  With  a  notice  of  two  of  these 
schools  we  may  conclude  this  sketch. 

We  are  told  by  St.  Luke,  that  when  St.  Paul  commenced 
his  public  ministry  at  Athens,  "  certain  philosophers  of  the 
Epicureans  and  of  the  Stoics  encountered  him."*  The  sect  of 
the  former  was  extensively  spread,  and  we  can  now  read  their 
moral  precepts  in  Catullus  and  Lucan,  or  the  more  widely- 
known  pages  of  Horace.  They  denied  the  gods,  except  in 
name,  acknowledging  indeed  their  existence,  but  depriving 
them  of  all  government  over  the  affairs  of  men,  and  all  interest, 
either  in  their  crimes  or  virtues.  They  supposed  them  to  re- 
main in  passionless  apathy,  contemplating  only  their  own  hap- 
piness, and  thus,  the  dwellers  in  this  lower  world  were 
deprived  of  all  check  upon  their  baser  passions,  and  all  those 
incitements  of  hope  which  shed  their  radiance  to  reheve  the 

*  Acts,  xvii.  18. 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  127 


dreariness  of  our  pathway.  The  chief  good,  they  taught,  con- 
sisted in  pleasui'e.  The  founder  of  their  sect,  indeed,  made 
pleasure  to  consist  in  virtue,  and  the  pleasures  of  the  body, 
though  not  to  be  despised,  to  be  insignificant  when  compared 
with  those  of  the  soul.  Yet  we  know  the  necessary  tendency 
of  human  nature.  The  milder  code  of  morals  enabled  men  to 
degenerate  into  indolence  and  sensuality,  and  the  system,  there- 
fore, which  his  followers  taught  in  the  luxurious  Gardens  of 
Epicurus,  was  one  congenial  to  the  growing  effeminacy  of  Gre- 
cian character. 

Or,  if  there  were  loYtier  spirits  who  needed  something  less 
sensual — something  more  above  the  world — the  teaching  of 
the  Porch  supplied  the  want.  The  Stoic  was  at  hand  with  his 
doctrines,  which  were  elevated  enough  to  captivate  many  of 
the  noblest  minds  of  Greece  and  Rome,  from  Zeno  to  Brutus 
and  Marcus  Antoninus.  It  was  in  one  of  those  crises  which 
sometimes  happen  to  a  nation,  when  all  that  is  pure  and  ven- 
erable seems  to  have  lost  its  sanction,  and  society  is  rushing 
downward  with  reckless  levity,  that  Zeno  appeared.  He  be- 
held social  anarchy  advancing  with  rapid  strides.  Skepticism 
and  Epicurean  softness  had  eaten  like  a  canker  into  the  heart 
of  the  people,  and  there  was  nothing  to  counteract  them  ex- 
cept the  magnificent  but  vague  works  of  Plato,  or  the  vast  but 
abstruse  scheme  of  Aristotle.*  And  these  could  not  act  upon 
the  hfe  of  the  people.     All,  therefore,  for  which  Greece  had 

*  Lewes'  Hist  of  PMlos.'iL  151. 


128  GKECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

been  most  venerated,  was  hastening  to  decline,  and  the  glory 
which  Hngered  about  her  was  that  which  rests  ,jipon  decay. 
Zeno  came,  then,  with  the  inspiration  of  a  reformer,  to  correct 
these  evils.  He  wished  to  restore  the  stern  simplicity  and 
manly  energy  of  older  times — to  lay  again  the  deep  foundation  of 
a  reverence  for  moral  worth — and  thus  stem  the  sweeping  tor- 
rent of  enervating  pleasure.  But  it  was  a  reaction,  and  there- 
fore became  one-sided.  It  was  a  warfare  of  the  mind  against 
the  body,  intending,  if  possible,  to  produce  in  the  latter  a  tote  1 
annihilation  of  all  those  tastes  which  Providence  had  implanted. 
It  was  an  effort  after  apathy  as  the  highest  condition  of  our 
nature.  And  yet,  this  was  only  the  creed  of  the  fatalist, 
marked,  indeed,  by  its  mental  strength  and  self-reliance,  but 
rooting  out  all  human  passions,  and,  in  the  attempt  to  rise 
above  Humanity,  sinking  man  far  below  it.  Well  has  Milton 
summed  up  the  character  of  this  sect : — 

"  The  Stoic  last  in  philosophic  pride, 
By  him  called  virtue  ;  and  his  virtuous  man, 
Wise,  perfect  in  himself,  and  all  possessing  _ 

Equal  to  God,  oft  shames  not  to  prefer, 
As  fearing  God  nor  man,  contemning  all 
Wealth,  pleasure,  paia  or  torment,  death  and  Hfe, 
Which,  when  he  lists,  he  leaves,  or  boasts  he  can, 
For  all  his  tedious  talk  is  but  vain  boast, 
Or  subtle  shifts  conviction  to  evade. 
Alas  !  what  can  they  teach,  and  not  mislead, 
Ignorant  of  themselves,  of  God  much  more, 
And  how  the  world  began,  and  how  man  fell 
Degraded  by  himself,  on  grace  depending  ? 
Much  of  the  soul  they  talk,  but  all  awry, 


aRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  129 

And  in  themselves  seek  virtue,  and  to  themselves 
All  glory  arrogate,  to  God  give  none ; 
Rather  accuse  Him  under  usual  names. 
Fortune  and  Fate,  as  one  regardless  quite 
Of  mortal  things.     Who,  therefore,  seeks  in  these 
True  wisdom,  finds  her  not ;  or,  bj  delusion, 
Far  worse,  her  false  resemblance  only  meets, 
An  empty  cloud."* 

We  have  thus  imperfectly  sketched  the  successive  schools 
of  Athens,  that  we  might  form  some  estimate  of  the  intellectual 
condition  of  the  people  when  the  dawning  Gospel  began  to 
shed  its  soft  and  consecrating  rays  upon  them,  and  they  were 
summoned  to  worship  at  its  shrine.  These  schools  were  the 
footmarks  of  generations  as  they  had  toiled  onward  in  the 
perilous  journey.  They  had  for  ages  been  seeking  in  vain  to 
reach  that  region  where  the  face  of  Truth  can  be  seen  unveiled, 
but  all  had  been  a  miserable  failure.  The  great  problems 
which  concerned  man's  moral  interests  had  not  been  advanced 
one  step  towards  their  solution.  The  view,  indeed,  is  a  sad- 
dening one,  from  the  first  awakenings  of  human  inquiry  with 
Thales,  to  the  days  of  the  Skeptics,  who  denied  the  possibility 
of  any  answer  to  the  questions  which  had  tasked  their  prede- 
cessors. And  whatever  may  have  been  the  system — whatever 
fragment  of  truth  it  may  have  worked  out — ^it  spoke  without 
authority,  and  the  claims  of  conflicting  sects  distracted  the  be- 
wildered inquirer.    The  picture  of  Grecian  Pliilosophy  becomes, 

*  Paradise  Regained,  L  300. 


130  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

therefore,  a  picture  of  the  vain  and  impotent  struggles  of  the 
human  mind — of  noble  reasonings,*  yet  without  a  Star,  like 
that  which  led  the  Magi  of  old  through  the  clouds  of  Heaven 
and  the  darkness  of  earth,  to  their  God  at  last.  The  desert 
over  which  they  passed  was  arid  and  trackless — the  fountains 
at  which  they  drank  were  bitter,  quenching  not  the  insatiable 
thirst  of  their  souls — the  horizon  ever  receded — and  poor  Hu- 
manity pressed  on  until  every  elTort  became  palsied  by  despair. 
The  profound  thinkers  at  last  saw  the  insufficiency  of  these 
rival  systems,  and  turning  from  all,  settled  in  a  calm  and  con- 
tented skepticism.  It  has  been  well  remarked,  that  "  Philoso- 
phy began  with  a  childlike  question ;  it  ended  with  an  aged 
doubt."  And  what  is  the  lesson  we  learn  from  this  melan- 
choly record  ?     It  is  the  truth,  that 

"  Wisdom  is  ofttimes  nearer  when  we  stoop, 
Than  when  we  soar." 

*  "  But,  though  they  erred 


When  all  was  dark,  they  reason'd  for  the  truth. 

They  sought  in  earth,  in  ocean,  and  the  stars, 

Their  Maker,  arguing  from  his  works  toward  God ; 

And  from  His  word  had  not  less  nobly  argued, 

Had  they  beheld  the  Gospel  sending  forth 

Its  pure  eflfulgence  o'er  the  farthest  sea, 

Lighting  the  mountain-tops,  and  gUding 

The  banners  of  salvation  there.     These  men 

Ne'er  slighted  a  Redeemer  ;  of  His  name 

They  never  heard.     Perchance  their  late-found  harps. 

Mixing  with  angel  symphonies,  may  soimd 

In  strains  more  rapturous  things  to  them  so  new." 

Hillhouse^s  "  Judgment^ 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  131 

Yet  look  at  the  picture.  See  the  Greeks  for  ages,  carpmg 
and  questioning — caviUing  and  doubting — taught  to  dispute 
every  point  of  ethics  which  could  be  propounded,  and  contin- 
ually to  change  their  system  for  something  new — and  then  say, 
whether  a  more  unfavorable  state  of  mind  could  be  found  for 
the  reception  of  the  humbling  doctiiaes  of  our  faith. 

And  when  this  philosophy  descended  to  the  mass  of  the 
people,  it  assumed  a  different  character,  as  it  became  mingled 
with  the  lofty  poetical  traditions  they  had  received  from  their 
fathers.  It  is,  indeed,  almost  impossible  to  separate  their  phi- 
losophy from  their  popular  rehgion.  We  shall  enter  more 
fully  into  the  latter  subject  when  we  come  to  the  discussion  of 
their  Classical  Mythology,  but  it  is  necessary  to  allude  to  it 
here,  for  with  many  this  took  the  place  of  the  graver  studies 
of  the  Schools.  They  needed  something  in  which  to  repose 
faith,  and  when  the  mind  ceased  to  dwell  on  abstract  truths, 
the  imagination  assumed  its  empire.  It  turned  to  the  gods  of 
Olympus,  and  even  threw  an  ideal  grandeur  and  an  unearthly 
loveliness  over  the  human  form,  until,  by  degrees,  they  rever- 
enced men  as  deities.  The  mighty  dead  were  to  them  more 
than  human.  The  patriot  who  fell  for  his  country's  cause,  was 
elevated  by  that  very  death  to  the  rank  of  a  Divinity.  The 
noblest  orator  of  antiquity  swore  by  those  who  were  buried  at 
Marathon,  as  if  they  were  gods,  and  his  countrymen  trod  with 
solemn  awe  about  their  sepulchre.  To  them  it  was  a  conse- 
crated spot,  and  amid  the  darkness  of  midnight,  the  startled 
traveller  heard  borne  over  that  deserted  plain,  the  neighing  of 


132  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

steeds,  the  sound  of  arms,  and  the  wild  shout  of  the  onset,  as 
shadowy  forms  swept  by  him  in  all  the  pageantry  of  spectral 
war.*  The  character  of  the  people  operated  on  their  belief, 
and  their  behef  reacted  on  the  popular  character.  Their  faith 
was  the  religion  of  the  arts — an  embodiment  of  all  that  was 
beautiful  to  the  senses — and  therefore  its  hold  was  strong  upon 
the  minds  of  those  who  worshipped  all  that  was  noble  and 
graceful.  No  land  was  so  sanctified  by  the  golden  legends  of 
the  past,  and  never  was  there  a  nation  in  whom  a  discernment 
of  the  beautiful  was  of  such  universal  growth — developing 
itself  in  the  mighty  heart  of  the  whole  people — forming  every 
member  of  it — and  pervading  even  the  pastimes  of  children 
and  the  athletic  struggles  of  manhood.  They  had,  indeed,  a 
refinement  of  taste  and  a  love  of  imaginative  beauty,  which 
rendered  them  impatient  of  the  reality,  when  inconsistent  with 
their  own  conceptions.  And  they  demanded  this  attribute 
even  in  their  religion.  How  far  removed,  then,  were  the  tastes 
they  had  formed,  from  those  which  could  appreciate  the  self- 
denying  precepts  of  our  faith  ! 

The  great  difficulty,  indeed,  of  Grecian  character,  as  shown 
fully  in  their  hterature,  was  its  inability  to  deal  with  the  sol- 
emn realities  of  another  world.  Philosophy,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  dim  and  uncertain  in  its  reasonings,  while  poetry  led  its 
hearers  only  into  a  world  of  the  imagination,  where  the  fancy 
could  delight  itself,  but  the  faith  found  nothing  on  which  to 

*  Fausanias,  Lie.  33. 


GEECIAJSr  PHILOSOPHY.  133 

rest.  They  could  not  lift  the  veil  which  separated  eternal 
realities  from  their  view,  or  pierce  the  clouds  which  rested  on 
the  grave,  and  therefore  they  dreaded  to  look  forward.  In 
most  of  the  Greek  writers  there  is  a  visible  reluctance  to  walk 
amid  the  forms  of  Hades.  They  shuddered  at  the  darkness 
before  them,  and  reverted  their  eyes  to  where  alone  the  light 
was  resting.  On  the  present  scene  they  could  pour  the  flood 
of  sunshine  and  splendor,  and  see  around  them  the  freshness 
and  loveliness  of  the  morning,  and  they  therefore  cared  not  to 
look  beyond  it.  The  very  clouds  which  hovered  around  the 
horizon,  by  the  contrast  of  their  shadows,  rendered  the  land- 
scape to  their  view  more  dehghtful.*  And  when,  as  in  the 
tragedies  of  ^schylus,  the  writer  turns  to  images  of  a  sterner 
grandeur,  and  going  back  to  the  twilight  of  an  antique  my- 
thology, produces  fragments  of  its  forgotten  creed,  his  hearers 
seem  gladly  to  have  escaped  from  these  to  the  more  human 
creations  of  Sophocles.  If  the  former  was  the  Michael  Angelo 
of  their  literature,  the  latter  was  its  Raphael.  His  poetry, 
sunny  as  the  .^gean  in  spring,  seems  to  be  redolent  of  fresh- 
ness, but  yet,  it  is  confined  to  this  "  bank  and  shoal  of  time." 
And  so  it  was  with  most  of  those  whose  writings  helped  to 
form  the  character  of  their  countrymen.  They  taught  them  to 
rejoice  in  the  glory  of  nature — to  feel  a  rapture  in  the  freshness 
of  the  dawn  and  in  the  blaze  of  noon — to  welcome  the  stillness 
of  evening  and  the  solemn  grandeur  of  night — and  in  all  the 

*  St.  John's  Hellenes,  i.  315. 
12 


134  GEECIAlsr  PHILOSOPHY. 

workings  of  tliis  outward  life,  to  partake  of  its  sympathies, 
and  share  its  hopes  and  aspirations.  But  the  object  of  every 
lesson  was,  that  they  should  love  the  world  and  all  that  is 
in  the  world — and  for  it  alone — its  joys  and  soitows — they 
seemed  to  live. 

Such  were  the  Athenians,  in  the  pride  of  their  intellect,  as 
we  see  them  in  their  Hterature  and  in  the  schools  of  philoso- 
phy ;  and  in  concluding  this  view,  we  cannot  forbear  quoting 
the  graphic  description  of  Milton,  when  he  represents  Satan 
from  the  top  of  Mount  Niphates,  as  showing  our  Lord  "  all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them."  In  a  single 
passage  he  has  grouped  together  all  that  made  Athens  famous 
in  her  most  palmy  days. 

"Behold; 
"Where  on  the  JEgean  shore  a  city  stands, 
Bmlt  nobly ;  pure  the  air,  and  hght  the  soil ; 
Athens,  the  eye  of  Greece,  Mother  of  arts  ' 

And  eloquence,  native  to  famous  wits, 
Or  hospitable,  in  her  sweet  recess. 
City  or  suburban,  studious  walks  and  shades. 
See  there  the  olive-grove  of  Academe, 
Plato's  retirement,  where  the  Attic  bird 
Trills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long  ; 
There  flowery  hill  Hymettus,  with  the  sound 
Of  bees'  industrious  murmur,  oft  invites 
To  studious  musing  ;  there  Ilissus  rolls 
His  wliispering  stream :  within  the  walls  then  view 
The  schools  of  ancient  sages  ;  his,  who  bred 
Great  Alexander  to  subdue  the  world, 
Lyceum  there,  and  painted  Stoa  next : 
There  ehalt  thou  hear  and  learn  the  secret  power 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  135 


Of  harmony,  in  tones  and  numbers  hit 

By  voice  or  hand ;  and  various-measured  verse, 

-^olian  charms  and  Dorian  lyric  odes. 

And  his  who  gave  the  breath,  but  higher  simg, 

Blind  Melesigenes,  thence  Homer  call'd, 

Whose  poem  Phoebus  challenged  for  his  own : 

Thence  what  the  lofty  grave  tragedians  taught 

In  chorus  or  iambic,  teachers  best 

Of  moral  prudence,  with  dehght  received 

In  brief  sententious  precepts,  while  they  treat 

Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  change  in  hiunan  hfe. 

High  actions  and  liigh  passions  best  describing : 

Thence  to  the  famous  orators  repair. 

Those  ancient,  whose  resistless  eloquence 

Wielded  at  will  that  fierce  democracie. 

Shook  the  arsenal,  and  fulmined  over  Greece 

To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne  : 

To  sage  Philosophy  next  lend  thy  ear, 

From  Heaven  descended  to  the  low-roof 'd  house 

Of  Socrates  ;  see  there  his  tenement. 

Whom  well  inspired  the  oracle  pronounced 

Wisest  of  men ;  from  whose  mouth  issued  forth 

Mellifluous  streams,  that  water'd  all  the  schools 

Of  Academies  old  and  new,  with  those 

Sumamed  Peripatetics,  and  the  sect 

Epicurean,  and  the  Stoic  severe."* 

And  now,  if  we  have  succeeded  in  conveying  any  idea  of 
the  character  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  manner  in  which  their 
system  of  philosophy  and  hterature,  which  Christianity  came  to 
overthrow,  was  interwoven  with  all  their  thoughts  and  feelings, 
then  you  are  prepared  to  appreciate  the  difficulties  which  gath- 


*  Paradise  Megained,  B.  IV.  237. 


136  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

ered  about  the  Apostle  when  he  attempted  in  Athens  to  preach 
the  faith.  Look,  therefore,  at  the  scene  around  him,  when,  a 
stranger  from  another  land,  he  first  entered  the  capital  of 
Greece.  It  was  not  to  him,  as  it  now  is  to  us,  a  land  whose 
glory  has  faded,  her  songs  hushed,  and  her  sacrifices  extin- 
guished. He  beheld  a  scene,  every  portion  of  which  was  con- 
secrated by  the  recollections  of  the  past  and  the  glorious  fables 
of  their  faith.  About  him  was  a  wilderness  of  statues,  which 
all  the  efforts  of  art  have  never  since  been  able  to  equal.  He 
saw  the  dreams  of  her  poets  embodied  in  the  almost  speaking 
marble,  and  on  the  frieze  of  every  temple  their  radiant  legends 
were  written  by  the  sculptor's  hand.  It  was  such  a  gorgeous 
city  as  Spenser  has  described  in  his  Fairy  Queen : — 

"  High  towers,  fair  temples,  goodly  theatres, 
Strong  walls,  rich  porches,  princely  palaces, 
Large  streets,  brave  houses,  sacred  sepulchres. 
Sure  gates,  sweet  gardens,  stately  galleries, 
Wrought  with  fair  pillars,  and  fine  imageries." 

The  lucid  atmosphere  seemed  to  give  a  golden  lustre  to  the 
stately  columns  of  the  Parthenon  above  him,  and  to  color  with 
peculiar  tints  the  mountain  landscape  beyond,  bathing  the  leafy 
sides  of  Cithseron  in  its  pure  and  holy  brightness.  The  breeze 
which  swept  by  him  was  fragrant  with  odors  of  the  wild 
thyme  and  saffron,  and  the  thousand  sweetly-scented  plants 
which  still  grow  with  such  prodigality  on  the  soil  of  Greece, 
furnishing,  as  they  did  three  thousand  years  ago,  food  to  the 
bees  of  Hymettus. 


GRECIAIS"  PHILOSOPHY.  IST 

And  everywhere  were  proofs  of  the  activity  of  that  restless 
intellect,  which  characterized  the  inhabitants.  St.  Paul  found 
himself  mingling  with  an  energetic  people — their  persons 
formed  in  the  first  mould  of  Nature — their  minds,  as  we  have 
shown,  filled  with  the  noblest  shapes  of  ideal  beauty — their 
tongues  speaking  the  most  melodious  of  languages — with  all 
their  faculties,  critical,  exact,  and  sensitive — filled  with  the 
buoyant  spirits  which  arise  from  a  beautiful  country,  a  fine 
climate,  and  perfect  freedom.*  Every  other  literature  but 
their  own  they  despised.  They  looked  with  scorn  and  con- 
tempt upon  the  rugged  Scythian,  the  enervated  Persian,  the 
depraved  Egyptian,  the  lordly  Roman,  and  above  all,  upon  the 
narrow-minded  Jew.  Every  thing  was  uninteresting  to  them 
which  was  not  Greek ;  what  was  not  Greek  was  to  them 
beyond  the  pale  of  civilization.  Even  in  their  public  games 
this  exclusive  spirit  was  shown,  and  the  monarchs  of  the  East 
were  not  allowed  to  contend  for  that  olive-garland  for  which 
the  lowest  peasant  on  the  soil  of  Attica  might  be  a  competitor. 
Even  the  son  of  Amytas,  King  of  Macedon,  was  not  admitted 
until  he  had  proved  his  Hellenic  descent.  Yet  before  this 
audience,  so  keen  to  judge,  and  so  prejudiced  with  regard  to 
any  inroads  on  their  national  customs,  was  to  take  glace  the 
first  public  conflict  between  Christianity  and  Paganism. 

And  who  was  to  begin  the  contest  and  wage  the  warfare  for 
our  faith?     A  solitary  stranger — a,  wayworn  man  from  the 


*  Retros.  Review  Introd.  vi- 
12* 


138  GEEOIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

most  despised  of  all  nations — was  to  proclaim  a  creed  which 
set  at  dej&ance  all  human  learning,  and  sought  its  records  only 
in  the  sacred  volumes  of  an  obscure  and  barbarous  people. 
And  the  first  teacher  of  this  faith  was  no  demi-god — not  one 
of  those  who,  surpassing  in  majesty  the  sons  of  men,  had 
founded  dynasties  and  left  kings  for  his  descendants — but  a 
crucified  malefactor,  who  in  their  own  times,  and  among  a 
despised  nation,  had  fallen  a  victim,  either  to  the  malice  of  his 
countrymen,  or  the  jealousy  of  the  Roman  government.  In 
the  mere  fact  of  St.  Paul's  appeal  there  was  nothing  strange 
to  the  Athenians.  They  were  accustomed  to  listen  to  new 
teachers,  and  it  mattered  not  to  them  whether  it  was  the  priest 
of  Isis  or  the  fire- worshipper  of  Persia — all  were  equally  welcome 
if  they  could  furnish  intellectual  excitement,  and  aid  them  to 
while  away  the  hours  of  the  day.  The  more  strange,  therefore, 
the  doctrine,  the  more  acceptable  would  it  be  to  the  excitable 
listeners  ;  but  to  yield  to  it  their  behef,  or  to  make  it  the  rule 
of  conduct  through  life,  was  a  result  which  entered  not  into 
their  conceptions.  We  may  believe,  however,  that  there  was 
something  more  solemn  and  impressive  than  usual  in  the  ad- 
dress of  St.  Paul — something  which  arrested  the  attention  of 
a  portio;i  of  his  audience — for  though  there  were  those  who 
characterized  him  as  "  a  babbler,"  and  "  a  setter  forth  of 
strange  gods" — yet  there  were  others  who  treated  him  with  a 
consideration  for  which  he  could  scarcely  have  looked.  They 
brought  him  to  a  more  pubhc  place — the  Hill  of  Areopagus — 
and  there  called  upon  him  to  explain  his  "new  doctrine."    He  ( 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  139 

stood,  therefore,  in  the  very  midst  of  elevating  associations — 
surrounded  by  every  thing  that  was  lofty  and  intellectual  in 
the  queen  of  cities — on  the  spot  where  the  most  venerable 
court  of  antiquity,  whose  predecessors  had  judged  gods  and 
heroes,  was  still  accustomed  to  decide  the  most  solemn  causes 
which  could  aJBfect  the  interests  of  Greece.  All  was  antique 
and  solemn,  and  the  more  so  from  its  seclusion  from  the  busy 
stir  by  which  it  was  surrounded.  On  the  one  side,  in  a  dark 
chasm  of  the  rocks,  fenced  in  by  a  grove,  which  cast  a  twilight 
shade  at  noonday,  stands  the  shrine  of  the  Eumenides,  whose 
name  an  Athenian  cannot  utter  without  trembling.  Thither, 
said  tradition — and  ^schylus,  as  we  have  seen,  made  the  story 
the  foundation  of  one  of  his  immortal  dramas — they  were 
conducted,  by  order  of  Minerva,  from  the  Areopagus,  before 
which  they  had  been  the  accusers  of  Orestes.  To  an  Athe- 
nian, therefore,  the  spot  was  invested  with  a  surpassing  sanc- 
tity which  it  was  sacrilege  to  invade,  and  yet  there  the  Apostle 
was  to  attack  the  very  existence  of  those  gods  whose  dread 
influence  imparted  solemnity  to  the  scene.  Many  a  Grecian 
orator  had  stood  there  before  him,  and  by  the  power  of  his 
eloquence  swayed  at  will  the  same  fickle  audience  which  he 
was  now  to  address,  yet  never  one  on  a  theme  like  that 
by  which  "  his  spirit  was  stirred  in  him."  And  St.  Paul,  we 
know,  could  appreciate  these  considerations,  and  feel  the  con- 
trast between  the  humbling  doctrines  he  preached  and  the 
influence  which  acted  on  his  hearers  from  every  thing  around 
them. 


140  aEEciAisr  philosophy. 

His  address  is  framed  according  to  the  most  perfect  rules  of 
art,  so  that  not  even  his  fastidious  audience  could  take  excep- 
tion to  the  method  in  which  he  brings  forward  his  subject. 
Repressing  his  ardent  feelings,  he  arrays  every  thing  before 
the  bar  of  their  reason,  and  argues  in  a  spirit  of  calmness  and 
conciliation.  There  is  no  fierce  denunciation  of  that  idolatry 
to  which  "  he  saw  the  city  wholly  given" — no  contemptuous 
disdain  of  those  philosophic  opinions  which  elsewhere  he  pro- 
nounces "  foolishness."*  He  begins  with  nothing  which  can 
awaken  prejudice — -avoiding  alike  the  sternness  of  the  ancient 
Jewish  prophet,  and  the  taunting  defiance  of  the  later  Christian 
polemic.f  So  far  from  this,  his  speech  opens  with  a  compli- 
ment to  his  hearers.  "  Ye  men  of  Athens,  I  perceive  that  in 
all  things  ye  are  very  devout."];  They  had  long  paid  their 
homage  ignorantly  to  an  "unknown  God,"  and  he  came  but  as 
His  messenger  to  unfold  His  attributes.  "  God  that  made  the 
world  and  all  things  therein,  seeing  that  He  is  Lord  of  heaven 
and  earth,  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands,  neither  is 
worshipped  with  men's  hands,  as  though  He  needed  any  thing." 
The  first  clause  of  this  assertion,  indeed,  was  in  conflict  with 
the  opinions  of  the  Epicureans,  who  ascribed  the  formation  of  the 
earth  to  the  accidental  meeting  of  atoms ;  and  also  with  that 
of  Aristotle,  who  maintained  that  it  was  not  created  at  all,  but 


*  1  Cor.  iii.  19. 

\  MilmmTbS  Hist,  of  Christianity,  i.  251. 

:j:  deiaiSaiixovecTTcpovs.    Not  "  too  superstitious,"  as  our  version  renders  it. 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  141 

had  subsisted  as  it  is  from  all  eternity.  Yet  St.  Paul  was  but 
echoing  the  general  belief  of  men,  and  therefore  his  philo- 
sophical hearers  might  hesitate  to  take  offence,  particularly  as 
the  remainder  of  the  picture  was  one  to  which  both  Epicureans 
and  Stoics  could  accede.  It  bore  some  resemblance  to  the 
view  given  by  the  teachers  of  the  Garden  of  their  lofty  and 
abstracted  Deity,  too  far  removed  from  this  lower  world  to 
share  in  its  sympathies,  and  too  much  wrapped  in  the  contem- 
plation of  His  own  happiness  to  attend  to  the  degrading  sor- 
rows of  these  children  of  a  day.  But  if  they  felt  any  self- 
gratulation  at  this  coincidence,  the  next  sentence  which  the 
Apostle  uttered  must  at  once  have  dispelled  it,  as  he  declared 
of  the  Divinity,  "  He  giveth  to  all,  life,  and  breath,  and  all 
things."  It  proclaimed  an  active  providential  care,  unknown 
in  their  creed,  and  arrayed  itself  against  that  doctrine  of  a 
bhnd  chance,  which  Epicurus  taught,  instead  of  a  Supreme 
overruhng  power.  Perhaps  the  Stoic  might  so  far  have  found 
much  to  applaud,  nor  had  listened  as  yet  to  any  very  marked 
condemnation  of  his  favorite  doctrines,  which  could  awaken  his 
prejudice  against  the  Apostle.  He  might  even  agree  with  his 
bold  denunciations  of  idolatry,  for  there  would  be  something 
in  the  loftiness  and  spiritualism  of  his  views  to  please  the 
disciples  of  Zeno.  But  neither  sect  could  subscribe  to  the 
next  assertion  which  he  uttered,  "  He  hath  made  of  one  blood 
all  nations  of  men  to  dwell  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth." 
It  was  placing  them  on  an  equality  with  the  barbarians  they 
scorned,  and  striking  a  blow  at  the  very  foundation  of  Grecian 


142  GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

pride.  It  was  teaching  a  lesson  of  common  brotherhood,  for 
which  none  were  less  prepared  than  the  Athenians,  who  bound 
their  hair  with  golden  grasshoppers,  to  symbolize  their  belief 
that  they,  too,  were  children  of  the  soil,  older  in  their  creation 
than  the  other  tribes  of  the  earth,  and  coeval  with  the  world 
itself.  And  then,  he  goes  on  to  urge  their  submission  of 
themselves  to  this  Divinity,  from  a  sense  of  their  need  and 
dependence,  enforcing  this  truth  by  a  quotation  from  one  of 
their  own  poets,  *'  That  they  should  seek  the  Lord,  if  haply 
they  might  feel  after  Him,  and  find  Him,  though  He  be  not  far 
from  every  one  of  us  :  for  in  Him  we  live  and  move  and  have 
our  being ;  as  certain,  also,  of  your  own  poets  have  said.  For 
we  are  also  His  offspring."  And  here,  too,  the  Stoic  would 
object.  His  creed,  as  we  have  shown,  was  that  of  the  Fatalist, 
and  this  necessity  for  human  effort — this  humbling  reliance  on 
a  Higher  Power — was  "  bringing  strange  things  to  his  ears.'* 
Still  more  so  was  the  application  of  the  Apostle,  when  he  urges 
the  duty  of  repentance,  and  enforces  it  by  the  news  of  a 
coming  judgment  and  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  "  God 
now  commandeth  all  men  everywhere  to  repent ;  because  He 
hath  appointed  a  day,  in  the  which  He  will  judge  the  world  in 
righteousness  by  that  man  whom  He  hath  ordained ;  whereof  He 
hath  given  assurance  unto  all  men,  in  that  He  hath  raised  him 
from  the  dead."  Priding  himself  on  eradicating  all  degrading  pas- 
sions from  his  breast,  the  boast  of  the  Stoic  was  the  dignity  to 
which  his  nature  could  attain,  and  his  cardinal  sin  was  self-right- 
eousness.    How  humbling,  then,  to  him,  the  demand  for  repent- 


GEECIA]^  PHILOSOPHY.  143 

ance  !  How  utterly  at  war  witli  every  precept  taught  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  Porch  ! 

You  perceive  then  the  pregnant  meaning  of  each  sentence 
in  this  unrivalled  address — the  first  blow  struck  by  an  advo- 
cate for  Christianity  against  the  concentrated  wisdom  of  Greece. 
With  what  admirable  skill  does  the  Apostle  touch  the  popular 
creed  of  each  class  of  his  hearers,  blending  with  his  display  of 
their  errors  an  exposition  of  the  truth !  He  took  what  was 
right  in  their  religion,  infused  into  it  a  higher  hfe,  and  ex- 
pounded it  into  a  nobler  philosophy  than  they  had  ever  ima- 
gined. It  was  bringing  the  light  of  revelation  to  bear  upon 
what  glimmerings  of  tradition  remained  among  them,  and  giv- 
ing certainty  to  what  had  only  been  doubts  and  questionings. 

There  is  another  point  connected  with  this  subject  which  it 
is  well  to  consider — ^the  peculiar  feelings  of  St.  Paul  when  he 
stood  among  the  philosophers  of  Athens.  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say,  that  it  required  greater  moral  courage  for  him  to  pro- 
claim the  Gospel  before  that  audience,  than  would  have  been 
needed  by  any  other  of  the  twelve  apostles.  The  fishermen  of 
Galilee,  who  formed  our  Lord's  household  of  faith,  had  no  ap- 
preciation of  that  profound  philosophy  and  noble  literature 
with  which  the  religion  of  Greece  was  entwined.  They  could 
not  in  any  degree  sympathize  with  the  feehngs  of  its  followers, 
and  therefore  arrayed  themselves  against  it  with  a  recklessness 
and  unconcern  which  St.  Paul,  with  his  higher  cultivation, 
could  never  feel.  "  Even  by  their  simplicity  and  their  want  of 
erudition,  the  men  of  Galilee  were  well  armed  to  encounter 


144  GEECIAN^  PHILOSOPHY. 

whatever  they  might  meet  with  abroad  in  the  polytheistic 
world.  All  pagan  nations,  learned  or  barbarous,  Avere  placed 
on  one  and  the  same  level  in  their  view.  To  them  the  Athe- 
nian was  as  the  Scythian — a  worshipper  '  of  stocks.'  Was  the 
difference  between  one  idol  and  another,  in  its  fashion,  a  matter 
of  any  moment  ?  The  Jew  of  that  age,  by  his  conscious  pos- 
session of  the  most  important  truths,  and  by  his  want  of  re- 
finement, and  taste,  and  philosophic  sophistication,  stood  in  the 
most  favorable  position  for  looking  down  with  just  and  undis- 
tinguishable  contempt  upon  all  forms  of  idolatry.  His  very 
want  of  taste  prevented  his  perceptions  being  confused.  In 
his  eyes,  one  sculptured  folly  was  like  another — neither  more 
nor  less  offensive  on  account  of  its  workmanship.  What  was 
the  chisel  of  Phidias — what  the  pencil  of  Apelles — to  the  man 
who  had  been  taught  to  adore  the  living  and  true  God? 
Apollo  was  as  Dagon — the  temples  of  Greece  as  the  pagodas 
of  India. 

"It  must  be  admitted,  that  on  some  such  occasions,  when  the 
most  momentous  truths  have  to  be  manfully  asserted  in  oppo- 
sition to  splendid  and  erudite  errors,  there  may  be  an  advan- 
tage in  this  ignorance  which  prevents  any  influence  being 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  imagination.  Plain  and  insensitive 
vigor  of  mind  may  perhaps  trample  heedlessly  on  some  things 
which  deserve  a  measure  of  respect,  but  it  takes  the  right 
course,  reaches  an  impregnable  position,  and  leaves  a  host  of 
frivolous  sophisms  in  the  rear,  powerless,  though  unrefuted. 
And   thus   it   was   with   the   men   of  Galilee.     In  their  un- 


GRECIAI^  PHILOSOPHY.  145 

blemished  simplicity,  they  thought  of  nothing  but  the  infinite 
disparity  between  the  true  and  false  religions.  On  the  banks 
of  the  Tiber  or  of  the  Tigris — of  the  Indus  or  the  Nile — the 
Gospel  of  Christ  was  always  then*  glory,  and  they  saw  nothing 
in  the  world  which,  by  comparison,  could  for  a  moment  make 
them  ashamed  of  it."* 

But  with  St.  Paul  the  case  was  widely  diflferent.  Possessed 
of  a  higher  order  of  talent,  and  a  greater  vigor  of  mind  than 
his  associates,  he  could  grasp  a  subject  in  all  its  bearings  in  a 
way  of  which  they  were  utterly  incapable.  A  whole  world,  of 
which  they  never  dreamed,  was  open  to  his  view.  As  he  stood 
on  the  Hill  of  Areopagus,  a  thousand  thmgs  were  presented  to 
his  mind — a  thousand  poetical  associations — against  which 
their  eyes  were  perfectly  sealed.  Forms  of  beauty,  which, 
on  another  occasion,  or  when  charged  with  a  less  impera- 
tive mission,  would  have  awakened  his  highest  admiration, 
could  hardly  have  won  from  them  a  second  look.  He  appre- 
ciated the  fair  fabric  he  was  smiting  to  the  dust — they,  in 
their  blissful  ignorance,  would  have  crushed  it  without  a  pass- 
ing regret.  His  wider  knowledge  of  the  world — ^his  acquaint- 
ance with  human  afikirs — his  keener  sensibility  and  deeper  dis- 
cernment— rendered  him  conscious  of  unnumbered  influences, 
which  were  lost  upon  less  cultivated  minds. 

In  addition  to  this,  we  must  remember  St.  Paul's  acquaint- 
ance with  that  literature  which  was  sealed  to  his  brethren. 


*  Saturday  Evening ,  p.  35. 
13 


146  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


For  several  centuries,  Judea  had  ceased  to  be  what  it  once  was, 
a  secluded  land.  The  tide  of  foreign  invasion  which  more  than 
once  rolled  over  it,  had  not  only  brought  it  before  the  view  of 
foreign  nations,  but  opened  to  the  Jews  themselves  some 
glimpses  of  the  outward  world  beyond  their  own  boundaries. 
Thus,  the  Macedonian  conquest  had  brought  them  into  contact 
with  Greece,  and  from  that  time  there  were  not  wanting 
those  among  them  who  cultivated  a  knowledge  of  its  literature. 
The  mass  of  the  people,  however,  looked  upon  it  as  disloyalty 
to  Moses,  for  the  effect  seems  generally  to  have  been  unfavora- 
ble. While  these  studies  widened  the  intellectual  horizon  of 
the  Jews,  it  diminished  the  single-hearted  devotion  with  which 
they  were  bound  to  regard  their  own  law.  If  Josephus  may 
be  regarded  as  an  example  of  their  influence,  we  cannot  but 
feel  that  in  his  case  all  national  feeling  was  destroyed,  and  he 
was  prepared  to  be  what  he  afterwards  became — a  Roman 
renegade. 

But  without  the  bounds  of  Judea,  the  scattered  colonies  of 
Jews,  who  were  brought  into  more  frequent  intercourse  with 
foreigners,  indulged  themselves  to  a  greater  extent  in  profane 
literature.  The  Jews  of  Alexandria  were  learned  in  the 
popular  philosophy  of  the  day,  and  we  may  beheve  that  so 
it  was  with  those  who  dwelt  in  the  Roman  city  of  Tarsus.  St. 
Paul,  we  know,  had  been  a  reader  of  Aratus  and  Meander, 
and  the  philosophical  poets  of  Greece,  and  the  influence  of 
these  more  hberal  studies  is  visible  in  all  parts  of  his  writings. 
Yet  he  had  also  sat  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel,  and  had  thus 


GEECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  147 

escaped  the  danger  which  we  mentioned  as  besetting  others  of 
his  countrymen.  Nothing  seems  to  have  weakened  his  attach- 
ment to  all  that  was  distinctive  of  his  nation,  and  he  never  be- 
came so  much  a  Grecian  as  to  cease  to  be  a  Jew.  We  believe, 
therefore,  that  could  he  have  selected  his  own  field  of  labor, 
he  would  have  delighted  to  argue  with  his  "  kinsmen  after  the 
flesh"  in  behalf  of  the  New  Faith,  and  to  unfold — as  in  his 
Epistle  to  the  Hebrews — the  great  truth,  that  Christianity  was 
but  the  nobler  development  of  Judaism.  For  this  he  was 
most  eminently  fitted — ^he  would  have  had  with  his  hearers, 
a  common  ground  on  which  to  stand — and  if  they  hated  him 
as  an  apostate  from  their  faith,  at  least  they  could  not  scorn 
him. 

But  the  task  which  his  Lord  had  allotted  him  was  one  far 
more  self-denying.  He  was  "  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles." 
And  we  cannot  conceive  a  more  mortifying  trial  which  could 
have  been  devised,  than  for  one  who  so  fully  realized  his  posi- 
tion, to  be  obliged  to  preach  the  humbling  doctrines  of  the 
Cross  through  the  cities  of  Greece.  "  He  must  have  felt,  in 
all  its  force,  the  contempt  that  covered  him  as  the  promulgator 
of  such  dogmas — he  felt  this  obloquy  as  his  colleagues  could 
not.  Not  only  in  the  single  instance  recorded  by  his  biogra- 
pher, but  no  doubt  often  in  his  circuit  through  Greece  and  its 
colonies,  he  stood  surrounded  by  the  sarcastic  curiosity  of 
Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Academicians.  He  knew,  on  such  oc- 
casions, in  what  spirit  he  was  hstened  to,  as  a  busy  and  bab- 
bling zealot  of  the  Jewish  superstition.     He  could  penetrate — 


148  GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

nay,  he  could  feel  a  sympathy  with  the  erudite  scorn  of  his 
auditors.  He  understood  the  sentiment  with  which  men  of 
high  culture  give  ear,  for  a  moment,  to  a  tale  of  wonder  which 
they  have  condemned  as  absurd,  before  it  is  commenced.  In 
the  oblique  glance  of  the  half- closed  eye — in  the  sneer  that 
played  on  the  lip — he  read  the  mind  and  the  malice  of  every 
sophist.  He  could  mentally  change  positions  with  his  auditors, 
and  at  the  moment  while  uttering  the  *  strange  fhings'  of  the 
Gospel,  could  feel  as  they  felt — the  harsh  and  abhorrent  char- 
acter, both  of  the  principles  and  of  the  facts,  which  he  had  to 
announce — Jesus,  the  Gahlean  teacher — crucified — raised  to 
fife — constituted  Lord  and  Judge  of  men,  and  now  giving  re- 
pentance for  remission  of  sins."* 

And  what  was  the  effect  of  this  solemn  appeal  uttered  to 
the  crowds  who  thronged  those  immemorial  hillsj  We  may 
believe  the  emotions  were  as  varied  as  the  classes  of  hearers 
St.  Paul  addressed.  "  When  they  heard  of  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead,  some  mocked,"  and  many  probably  were  alarmed  at 
a  creed  so  sweeping  in  its  denunciations  against  the  gods  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  reverence.  The  philosophical  part  of 
his  audience,  too,  may  have  been  startled  by  doctrines  so  far 
beyond  the  loftiest  reasonings  of  their  o^vn  teachers.  And  as 
they  parted,  the  Cynic's  sneer  could  have  been  seen,  and  the 
Stoic  wrapped  his  robe  about  him  with  a  sterner  pride,  while 
the  careless  Epicurean  turned  again  to  his  luxm'ious  Gardens 


*  Saturday  Evening,  p.  39. 


GEECIAI^  PHILOSOPHY.  149 

with  a  laughing  jest  against  those  who  could  give  heed  for  a 
moment  to  so  unsmiling  and  gloomy  a  creed.  Yet  there  were 
those  who  trembled  at  these  strange  tidings,  and  felt  that  the 
rushing  Spirit  of  "  the  Unknown  God"  must  have  descended 
into  the  heart  of  him  to  whose  voice  they  had  limned.  Their 
souls  were  stirred  within  them,  and  among  the  converts  who 
were  then  persuaded  to  embrace  the  faith  of  the  despised 
Nazarenes,  was  even  a  member  of  the  Court  of  Areopagus. 
Thus  was  the  Church  first  planted  at  Athens. 

We  perceive,  from  the  statements  that  have  been  made,  the 
obstacles  which  gathered  around  our  faith  when  it  invaded  the 
stronghold  of  Grecian  wisdom.  And  yet,  in  how  short  a  time 
did  the  lofty  tenets  of  the  Portico  and  the  Grove  bow  before 
the  lowly  doctrines  of  the  Cross  !  A  century  went  by,  and 
Christianity  numbered  among  its  followers  many  of  those  who 
once  wore  the  philosopher's  robe,  but  now  coimted  their  wis- 
dom foolishness  in  comparison  with  the  teachings  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.  From  their  trained  intellects  came  the  ablest  de- 
fences of  the  Christian  faith,  proving  how  soon  it  enlisted  hu- 
man learning  in  its  behalf. 

Another  century  went  by,  and  the  conflict  with  philosophy 
was  for  a  time  once  more  revived  in  another  land.  Exiled  from 
Greece,  philosophy  sought  refuge  in  other  climes,  where,  under 
new  forms,  it  endeavored  to  revive  its  worship.  And  particu- 
larly at  Alexandria,  which,  in  the  dechne  of  Roman  civilization, 
became  both  the  home  of  science  and  the  mart  of  commerce, 
its  reign  for  awhile  was  brilliant.     It  was  a  revival  of  the  doc- 

13* 


150  GRECIAT^  PHILOSOPHY. 

trines  of  Platonism,  blended  with  that  Orientahsm  which  suited 
so  well  the  mystical  character  of  the  Egyptians.*  Philo  had 
sowed  the  seeds,  which  afterwards  Plotinus  and  Proclus  de- 
veloped into  a  system,  and  arrayed  as  an  antagonist  to  the 
Christian  Church.  But  if  they  were  unlike  their  predecessors 
of  Greece,  troir  disciples  were  still  more  so.  While  Proclus 
endeavored  to  revive  the  scientific  spirit  of  Platonism,  and  Plo- 
tinus the  religious  spirit  of  Paganism,  the  effort  was  rendered 
sterile  in  the  hands  of  men  of  feebler  minds,  who  exhausted 
their  strength  in  verbal  disputes.  They  attempted  to  explore 
the  secrets  of  the  invisible  world,  and  were  led  at  last  to  the 
wildest  vagaries.  They  flattered  themselves  that  they  pos- 
sessed the  secret  of  disengaging  the  soul  from  its  corporeal 
prison — claimed  a  familiar  intercourse  with  demons  and  spir- 
its— and  by  a  singular  revolution,  converted  the  study  of  phi- 
losophy into  that  of  magic.f  The  doctrines  of  the  Grecian 
schools  were  revived,  and  an  attempt  was  made  to  breathe  the 
breath  of  life  once  more  into  their  expiring  Pagan  creed  by 
interpreting  its  symbols  in  a  new  sense.  They  were  invested 
with  the  veil  of  moral  allegory,  yet  there  was  nothing  in  this 
that  could  sth*  the  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  hearts  of 
men,  or  awaken  them  to  a  new  spiritual  hfe.  The  decline  of 
this  school,  therefore,  was  sudden  and  undignified.     After  a 

*  "  Recentiores  quiqui  philosoplii  nobihssimi,  quibus  Plato  sectandus 
placuit,  noluerint  se  dici  Peripateticos,  aut  Academicos,  sed  Platonicos." 
De  Civit.  Dei,  Ub.  8,  ch.  x. 

f  Gibbon's  "  Decline  and  Fall,"  ch.  xiii. 


GRECIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  151 

bitter  warfare  with  the  Christian  fathers  of  that  age — a  warfare 
which  brought  forward  Porphyry  and  Jambhcus — its  last  gleam 
of  splendor  faded  with  Proclus,  and  the  death  of  the  Emperor 
Julian  was  the  signal  for  its  entire  defeat.  Yet  what  a  strange 
spectacle  for  a  time  was  witnessed  in  that  Egypl^n  city,  when 
within  sight  of  the  ranges  of  alabaster  and  porphyry  columns 
which  marked  the  temple  of  Serapis,  stood  the  Didascalia  of  the 
Christians,  and  the  schools  of  Philo  the  Jew  and  CEnesidemus 
the  Pyrrhonist — when  the  Hellenist  Jews,  the  Christians,  the 
Platonists,  the  Greek  Skeptics,  who  scarcely  believed  in  the 
existence  of  their  own  Elysium,  and  the  adherents  of  a  most 
degraded  Paganism,  were  all  contending  for  the  dominion  of 
the  human  mind ! 

With  the  fall  of  this  school  of  Neo-Platonism,  the  reign  of 
Philosophy,  as  a  substitute  for  religion,  was  over  forever.  It 
still  exercised  its  dominion  over  the  human  mind,  as  it  does  to 
this  present  time,  but  it  had  become  the  handmaid  of  religion. 
The  effort  now  was  to  harmonize  the  glorious  dreams  of  Plato 
with  the  sublime  realities  of  the  Christian  faith.  We  have 
already  spoken  of  the  extent  to  which  this  was  carried,  and  so 
many  were  the  points  of  resemblance  which  the  ingenuity  of 
early  writers  discovered — so  near  his  approach  to  some  of  the 
cardinal  doctrines  of  our  faith — that  at  last  the  tradition  grew 
in  the  Church,  that  Plato  was  met  by  our  Lord  when  **  He 
descended  into  hell,"  and  received  from  him  illumination  and 
pardon,  and  eternal  life.  But  this  very  legend  shows  the 
change  which  had  taken   place.     The  noble  speculations   of 


152  GEECIATT  PHILOSOPHY. 

Grecian  wisdom  were  esteemed  of  no  value,  but  as  they  uttered 
the  same  tones  with  that  New  Dispensation  which  claimed  the 
right  alone  to  guide  man  on  his  dark  and  perilous  way.  Thus 
the  dimness  of  Grecian  Philosophy  faded  away  before  the  light 
of  tlie  Gospelt  and  Christianity  crushed  its  old  antagonist  in  its 
ancient  home,  or  else  forced  it  to  follow  in  its  train.  Philoso- 
phy, like  the  toiling  Genius  of  Arabian  fable,  became  the  re- 
luctant slave  of  a  Master  of  a  higher  race,  whose  power  was 
too  mighty  to  be  withstood. 


III. 

THE  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 


The  opposition  which  the  early  teachers  of  Christianity  en- 
countered was  Proteus-hke  in  its  shapes.  Wherever  the  her- 
alds of  the  Cross  went,  they  found  hostihty  in  a  new  form 
awaiting  them.  When  they  had  overcome  the  narrow  bigotry 
of  the  Jew,  or  vanquished  the  proud  philosophy  of  Greece, 
enemies  still  thronged  their  path,  and  they  were  called  at  once 
to  enter  on  a  new  strife.  And  we  find  this  illustrated  in  the 
history  of  St.  Paul,  as  he  passed  on  froni  country  to  country, 
everywhere  sowing  the  good  seed  of  the  Word.  "  He  departed 
from  Athens,  and  came  to  Corinth."*  But  if  the  scene  is 
changed,  and  the  nature  of  his  warfare,  there  is  still  the  same 
hostility  to  his  message.  He  is  commencing  his  ministry  in 
the  most  profligate  city  of  the  East,  and  the  subject  which  it 
suggests  is — Christianity  in  conflict  with  the  licentious 
SPIRIT  op  the  age. 

Corinth  was  in  that  day  the  common  emporium  of  the  East- 
em  and  Western  divisions  of  the  Roman  empire.     In  the  fresh- 

*  Acts,  xviii.  1. 


154  LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

ness  of  its  early  power,  when  it  sent  forth  its  armament  to  the 
siege  of  Troy,  Homer  had  named  it,  "  The  Wealthy,"*  and  it 
was  in  the  Old  World  what  afterwards  Venice  became  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  when  she  ruled  as  Queen  of  the  seas.  To  the 
North,  along  the  coast  of  Greece,  stretched  her  colonies,  to 
which  she  had  imparted  her  own  character,  and  to  the  West 
was  the  same  line  of  settlements,  as  far  as  Syracuse,  the  might- 
iest of  the  Grecian  offspring.  There  was  a  beautiful  custom 
which  required  them  always  to  derive  from  the  sacred  hearth 
of  the  Mother  state,  the  fire  which  they  kept  burning  in  the 
Prytaneum  ;  thus  the  tie  which  bound  them  together  was  pre- 
served by  the  holiest  association,  and  when  the  parent  had 
fallen,  these  colonies  were  destined  to  give  her,  as  it  were,  a 
second  youth.  The  name  of  Corinth  was  cherished  among  the 
patriotic  associations  of  Greece,  for  it  was  the  centre  of  the  last 
brilliant  Achaian  confederacy,  was  sanctified  by  the  remem- 
brance of  Aratus  and  Philopcemen,  and  the  spot  where  the 
final  stand  was  made  against  the  crushing  power  of  Rome. 
Nearly  two  centuries  ha^  now  elapsed  since  its  destruction  by 
Mummius,  but  it  had  been  restored  and  beautified  by  Julius 
Caesar,  who  rebuilt  it  as  a  Roman  colony.  When  it  rose 
from  the  ashes  of  its  mournful  ruins,  it  was  to  expand  into  a 
splendor  surpassing  its  former  glory.  Its  conquerors,  to  atone 
for  the  barbarous  destruction  with  which  it  had  been  visited, 
showered  upon  it  all  the  honors  and  favors  in  their  power ; 

*  Iliad,  ii  637. 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  155 

and,  constituted  the  capital  of  the  Roman  province  of  Achaia, 
it  grew  to  be  the  rival  of  Athens  in  elegance  and  art.  From 
its  situation  it  necessarily  became,  too,  the  commercial  capital 
of  the  East.  The  traveller  by  land  who  was  going  from  the 
Peloponnesus  to  visit  any  of  the  cities  of  Northern  Greece, 
passed  through  its  gates — by  the  port  of  Cenchreae,  it  received 
the  rich  merchandise  of  Asia,  and  by  that  of  Lechseum,  it 
maintained  intercourse  with  Italy  and  Sicily — while  through 
the  Isthmean  road  a  communication  was  opened  with  the  North 
and  South.  Its  streets,  therefore,  were  the  very  mart  of  the 
world,  and  through  them  passed  that  continual  stream  of  com- 
merce, which  flowed  towards  the  Imperial  City,  bearing  with 
it  all  the  luxuries  of  the  Eastern  provinces.  Although  the 
basis  of  the  population  was  Roman,  yet  others  thronged  in 
from  every  quarter  on  account  of  its  admirable  adaptation  for 
mercantile  purposes,  and  probably  in  ho  part  of  the  empire 
were  both  the  inhabitants  and  travellers  so  various  and  diversi- 
fied. There  was,  as  we  can  now  see  at  Trieste  and  other 
commercial  cities  of  the  East,  a  perpetual  confusion  and 
mingling  of  all  costumes  and  dialects,  the  inhabitants  of  three 
continents  meeting  in  the  market-place  and  on  the  crowded 
wharves. 

Amid,  therefore,  this  stu*  of  business  and  perpetual  arrival 
and  departure  of  strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  the 
preaching  of  a  new  and  peaceful  faith  could  excite  but  little 
attention.  The  estabhshed  priesthood  themselves  had  been 
but  newly  settled,  and  religious  itinerants  of  every  description 


156  LICEISTTIOTIS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

abounded,  so  that  no  argument  of  novelty  could  attract  the 
inhabitants  to  any  other  form  of  worship.  This  city,  too,  was  the 
favorite  resort  of  the  Sophists,  and  in  an  oration  of  Dio  Chry- 
sostom  there  is  a  graphic  description,  which  we  may  quote,  as 
illustrating  the  general  appearance  of  society,  Diogenes,  the 
Cynic  philosopher,  appears,  and  endeavors  to  attract  an  au- 
dience among  the  vast  and  idle  multitude.  He  complains, 
however,  "  that  if  he  were  a  travelling  dentist,  or  an  oculist,  or 
had  any  infallible  remedy  for  the  spleen  or  the  gout,  all  who 
were  afflicted  with  such  diseases  would  have  thronged  around 
him ;  but  as  he  only  professed  to  cure  mankind  of  vice,  igno- 
rance, and  profligacy,  no  one  troubled  himself  to  seek  a  remedy 
for  those  less  grievous  maladies."  ..."  And  there  was  around 
the  temple  of  Neptune  a  crowd  of  miserable  Sophists,  shouting 
and  abusing  one  another ;  and  of  their  so-called  disciples,  fight- 
ing with  each  other ;  and  many  authors  reading  their  works,  to 
which  nobody  paid  any  attention ;  and  many  poets,  chanting 
their  poems,  with  others  praising  them  ;  and  many  jugglers, 
showing  off  their  tricks ;  and  many  prodigy-mongers,  noting 
down  their  wonders ;  and  a  thousand  rhetoricians,  perplexing 
causes ;  and  not  a  few  shopkeepers,  retailing  their  wares 
wherever  they  could  find  a  customer.  And  presently  some 
approached  the  philosopher — ^not,  indeed,  the  Corinthians,  for, 
as  they  saw  him  every  day  in  Corinth,  they  did  not  expect  to 
derive  any  advantage  from  hearing  him — but  those  that  drew 
near  him  were  strangers,  each  of  whom  having  listened  a  short 
time,  and  asked  a  few  questions,  made  his  retreat  for  fear  of 


LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE.  157 

his  rebukes."*  This,  therefore,  was  a  place  remarkable  for  the 
excitement  which  pervaded  every  class  of  society,  and  for  the 
intensity  of  its  worldliness.  Every  feeling  which  was  not  de- 
voted to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  was  absorbed  in  the  spirit  of 
commerce  and  the  rivalry  for  gain. 

Thus  Corinth  became  the  latest  home  of  Grecian  enterprise 
and  glory.  When  refinement  and  art  were  growing  dim  in  their 
early  seats  in  Ionian  Asia  and  Attica,  they  had  another  revi- 
val— a  brief  flashing  out  into  glorious  beauty — in  this  splendid 
city  of  the  Isthmus.  We  trace  there  the  last  gleaming  foot- 
steps of  Hellenic  art  before  it  took  its  departure  forever  from 
the  soil  of  Greece.  But  in  the  Apostle's  day  it  was  in  its 
"  high  and  palmy  state" — at  the  very  climax  of  its  luxury  and 
glory — ^its  vice  and  heathen  wickedness.  No  place  could  ex- 
ceed it  in  the  splendor  and  magnificence  of  its  public  buildings 
— ^its  temples,  palaces,  theatres,  and  baths.  It  was  the  opu- 
lence of  Rome,  refined  and  guided  by  Attic  taste.  Perhaps, 
in  many  respects,  life  was  more  free  and  joyous  in  this  vivid 
Grecian  city  than  even  in  the  Imperial  capital  of  the  world. 
There,  the  mighty  pomp  and  opulence  which  were  witnessed 
overpowered  the  senses,  and  threw  all  but  the  most  favored 
few  into  insignificance.  Pleasure  was  too  ponderous  and  stately 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  golden  house  of  Nero,  and  about  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  court.  There,  too,  was  felt  the  crushing  power 
of  a  despotism  always  before  their  eyes,  and  men  could  not 

*  Quoted  by  Mil  man,  Hist,  of  Christianity,  v.  i.  p.  253. 
14 


158  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

breathe  freely.  But  the  inhabitants  of  the  gay  city  of  Corinth, 
shining  in  her  gaudy  fetters,  were  subjected  to  no  such  con- 
straints, while  they  found  within  the  narrow  compass  of  her 
walls  every  gift  which  pleasure  could  offer.  They  had  all  the 
brilliancy  of  luxury,  without  ever  feeling  their  spirits  wearied 
by  its  pomp. 

The  Isthmean  games,  too,  celebrated  once  in  five  years,  drew 
to  this  spot  a  concourse  from  every  part  of  Greece,  and  added 
much  to  the  celebrity  of  the  city.  It  is  from  them,  as  a  sub- 
ject familiar  to  his  readers,  that  St.  Paul  draws  many  of  his 
illustrations  of  the  Christian  life.  And  it  is  strange,  that  the 
only  remaining  monuments  of  ancient  Corinth — the  Amphi- 
theatre, the  Theatre,  and  the  Stadium — are  the  very  scenes  to 
which  the  Apostle  referred,  when  he  endeavored  to  explain  the 
emotions  he  felt,  or  those  he  wished  to  inspire.*  When,  for 
instance,  he  wrote  to  them — "  I  have  fought  with  beasts  at 
Ephesus,"f — they  knew  from  what  they  had  witnessed  in  their 
own  Amphitheatre,  the  nature  of  the  conflict  to  which  he 
referred.  When  he  declared — "  We  are  made  a  spectacle 
(eiaTpov)  unto  the  world,  and  to  angels,  and  to  men, "J — the 
thoughts  of  his  readers  must  have  reverted  at  once  to  their 
own  Theatre,  where  the  actors  in  the  drama  were  exposed  to 
the  view  of  countless  spectators,  who  watched  and  criticised 
each  tone  and  movement.  And  how  vividly  must  they  have 
had  pictured  before  their  eyes  the  necessity  of  diligence  in  the 

*  WordswortKa  Greece,  p.  354.         f  1  Cor.  xv.  32.         %  1  Cor.  iv.  9. 


LICEIsTTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  159 

Christian  race,  wlien  he  asked  the  question — "  Know  ye  not 
that  they  which  run  in  the  Stadium,  (h  j^raSicfi,)  run  all,  but  one 
receiveth  the  prize  ?  So  run,  that  ye  may  obtain.  I,  there- 
fore, so  nm,  not  as  uncertainly."  And  he  couples  with  it  allu- 
sions to  the  gymnastic  exercises  by  which  the  athletsB  were 
trained  for  the  combat : — **  Every  one  that  striveth  for  the 
mastery  is  temperate  in  all  things.  Now  they  do  it  to  obtain 
a  corniptible  crown,  (a  fading  garland,)  but  we  an  incon*upti- 

ble So  fight  I,  not  as  one  that  beateth  the  air :  but  I 

keep  under  my  body,  and  bring  it  into  subjection.*'*  And 
now  these  mouldering  ruins  remain  to  recall,  to  our  recollection 
the  words  of  St.  Paul,  and  the  ministry  which  for  two  years  he 
exercised  in  this  dissolute  city.  Another  race,  indeed,  dwells 
on  this  spot,  but  the  seasons  come  and  go  as  of  old — the  land- 
soape,  too,  is  the  same — the  lofty  mountain  still  looks  down  on 
Corinth — the  fountains  send  forth  their  gushing  waters — and 
the  sea  stretches  around  her  azure  arms,  and  breaks  her  glit- 
tering waves  upon  the  shore — as  when,  in  a  later  day,  St. 
Clement,  the  fellow-laborer  of  the  Apostle,  drew  from  these  fea- 
tures of  natural  scenery  his  illustrations  when  writing  to  the 
Corinthians: — "The  teeming  Earth  brings  forth  at  its  ap- 
pointed seasons  overflowing  nourishment  to  man  and  beast,  not 
gainsaying  nor  altering  any  of  God's  decrees  ;  the  hollow  of 
the  immeasurable  Sea,  collected  together  in  heaps  by  His 
workmanship,  passes  not  out  of  the  barriers  thrown  around  it ; 

*  1  Cor.  ix.  24-2Y. 


160  LICEIS^TIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

the  Ocean,  not  lightly  crossed  by  man,  and  the  worlds  beyond 
it,  are  ruled  by  the  same  ordinances ;  the  Seasons  of  Spring, 
Summer,  and  Autumn,  give  way  to  each  other  in  peace  ;  the 
Posts  of  the  Winds  perform  their  duty  in  their  proper  season, 
and  interfere  not ;  and  the  perennial  Fountains,  formed  for 
delight  and  health,  give  their  hearts  of  life  to  man,  and  never  ^L 
fail."*  ▼ 

But  the  beauty  and  wealth  of  Corinth  proved  its  ruin.  We 
have  already  said,  that  it  was  notorious  for  its  profligacy,  and 
in  this  respect  it  stood  pre-eminent  among  the  cities  of  the 
East.  Living  in  a  climate  whose  mild  and  enervating  influence 
inclined  them  to  enjoyment,  its  inhabitants  yielded  to  its  power, 
and  in  their  pleasures  sank  to  the  lowest  depths  of  moral 
degradation.  Heathenism,  too,  held  its  rites  among  them  with 
a  licentiousness  which  the  world  has,  perhaps,  never  seen  ^ 
equalled.  Here  was  the  most  celebrated  Temple  of  Venus 
with  its  thousand  abandoned  ministrants ;  and  not  even  in  her 
own  Paphian  home  was  the  Goddess  worshipped  with  so 
degrading  a  service.  Here  arose  the  most  sumptuous  style  of 
architecture  of  the  ancient  world — an  Order  which  still  per- 
petuates the  name  of  the  city  of  its  birth,  and  whose  rich 
column,  "  waving  its  wanton  wreath,"  seems  to  be  a  type  of 
the  characteristics  of  the  people  with  whom  it  had  its  origin. 
And  thus  abounding  riches  swelled  the  tide  of  luxury  and 
addjed  to  the  corruption  of  manners,  until  the  very  name  of 

*  St.  Clement's  First  Epis,  to  Corinthians,  20.  ^ 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  161 

voluptuous  Corintli  became  a  byword  through  the  world,  and 
it  was  proverbially  said — 

"!N'on  cuivis  homini  contingit  adire  Corinthum." 

Profligacy  was  wrought  into  the  very  being  of  the  Co- 
rinthians— entwined  with  all  their  earliest  associations — and 
strengthening  with  their  gro^vth.  Degraded  as  was  the  hea- 
then world  around,  the  Apostle  writes  to  them,  that  they  far 
surpassed  it — that  deeds  were  committed  among  them,  which 
"  are  not  so  much  as  named  among  the  Gentiles."*  And  so 
it  continued  to  the  end  of  their  existence  as  a  state.  In  spite 
of  every  change  in  the  population,  the  Corinthians  retained 
their  luxury  to  the  last ;  and  the  Epistles  of  Alciphron,  in  the 
second  century  after  Christ,  speak  most  clearly  of  the  prodi- 
gality and  vice  which  characterized  the  inhabitants.  When, 
therefore,  they  turned  to  the  holiness  of  our  faith,  their  whole 
nature  had  literally  to  be  remodelled.  "  Old  things  passed 
away,  and  all  things  became  new." 

We  see  the  influences  which  were  abroad  in  Corinth  from 
the  very  character  of  the  Apostle's  letters  to  the  Church  which 
was  established  there.  They  are  totally  different  in  their  sub- 
ject and  manner  from  those  addressed  to  other  Churches. 
These  are  occupied  almost  entirely  with  matters  of  faith — with 
those  great  doctrines  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  our  religion. 
But  in  those  to  the  Corinthians,  the  Apostle  is  obliged  to  de- 


*  1  Gw.  V.  1. 
14* 


162  LICEITTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

vote  himself  to  the  correction  of  abuses  which  could  be  traced 
in  no  other  Christian  community.  He  reiterates  his  warnings 
against  those  grosser  forms  of  sin,  which  we  should  suppose 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  Christianity  would  induce  them  to 
flee.*  He  is  called  to  decide  on  the  case  of  an  incestuous  per- 
son, who,  by  his  conduct,  had  outraged  every  principle  of  his  ,ij^ 
faith,  and  the  stern  decision  is,  "  I  verily,  as  absent  in  body, 
but  present  in  spirit,  have  judged  already,  as  though  I  were 
present,  concerning  him  that  hath  so  done  this  deed.  In  the 
name  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  when  ye  are  gathered  together, 
and  my  spirit,  with  the  power  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  to 
deliver  such  an  one  unto  Satan  for  the  destruction  of  the  flesh, 
that  the  spirit  may  be  saved  in  the  day  of  the  Lord  Jesus. "f 
Again  and  again  he  utters  his  exhortation,  that  they  should 
flee  from  the  enticing  idolatry  which  surrounded  them,  because 
they  could  not  ''  drink  the  cup  of  the  Lord  and  the  cup  of 
devils,  or  be  partakers  of  the  Lord's  table  and  of  the  table  of 
devils. "J  He  reproves  them  for  schism, §  and  for  the  disorder 
which  reigned  in  their  religious  assemblies,  particularly  when 
they  met  to  partake  of  the  Holy  Communion,  degrading  it 
into  a  riotous  feast,  and  losing  sight  of  its  origin  and  sacred 
import.  II  The  Church  was,  perhaps,  as  richly  as  any  other  in 
the  world,  endowed  with  the  extraordinary  gifts  of  the  Holy 


*  1  Cor.  ch.  V.  vl  viL  §  Ch.  i. 

t  Ch.  V.  3.  I  Ch.  3d.  20. 

t  Ch  X.  21. 


LICENTIOUS   SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE.  163 

Ghost — speaking  with  tongues,  interpreting  and  prophesying — 
yet  they  were  inferior  to  most,  in  the  ordinary  graces  of  the 
same  Blessed  Person,  acting  disorderly,  fond  of  strife,  and 
nmning  into  parties,  altogether  in  need  of  charity,  "  the  excel- 
lent way"  of  Christian  perfection.  Indeed,  schism,  dissension, 
and  error  appear  from  the  first  to  have  set  their  seal  upon  the 
Corinthian  Church. 

All  the  evils,  indeed,  which  the  Apostle  was  called  to  redress, 
speak  most  forcibly  of  a  Church  struggling  in  the  midst  of 
corruptions — bearing  the  impress  of  the  evils  which  surround 
it— ^tainted  and  enfeebled  by  that  spirit  of  old  idolatry  which 
it  had  hardly  yet  cast  oflF.  It  was  probably  the  most  unpro- 
pitious  atmosphere  in  which  the  Gospel  was  ever  preached. 
In  an  intellectual  philosophy,  or  an  established  mythology, 
there  was  something  tangible — something  with  which  the  mind 
could  grapple — and  when  the  reason  had  been  convinced  of 
their  vanity,  the  influence  they  exerted  was  at  once  swept  away. 
But  far  different  is  it  with  the  insidious  love  of  pleasure,  when 
it  has  fastened  upon  the  soul,  and  wonderful  must  have  been 
the  change  in  the  Corinthians,  when  they  renounced  those 
things  after  which  the  depraved  heart  most  yearns,  and  substi- 
tuted, in  their  place,  the  strictness  and  purity  of  the  Gospel. 
They  were  to  discard  and  turn  with  abhorrence  from  things 
which  they  had  not  only  looked  upon  as  innocent,  but  which 
had  been  even  ingrafted  on  their  worship.  They  had  to  learn, 
that  for  their  whole  hves  they  had  been  calling  evil  good,  and 
good  evil.     And  to  the  adoption  of  these  new  views  and  feel- 


164  LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

ings,  they  came  without  any  strength  of  purpose  or  vigor  of 
mind.  There  was  not  even  that  decision  of  character  which 
he  might  have  who  had  merely  turned  from  a  form  of  heathen- 
ism. They  were  paralyzed  by  all  the  influences  of  the  past. 
The  moral  sense  was  blighted  by  the  withering  atmosphere  in 
which  they  lived ;  and  the  heart  which  should  have  responded 
freely  to  all  that  was  great  and  glorious  in  the  new  faith,  gave 
back  but  feeble  pulsations  to  its  appeals.  The  task  was, 
therefore,  a  most  difficult  one,  to  break  up  this  lethargy — to 
reanimate  these  prostrate  spirits — and  to  teach  the  soul  which 
for  years  had  been  grovelling  in  the  dust,  for  the  first  time  to 
plume  its  wings  upward,  and  to  look  towards  heaven. 

We  perceive,  then,  the  arena  in  which  Christianity  was  now 
to  contend,  and  the  nature  of  the  adversary  it  met,  when  St. 
Paul  proclaimed,  before  the  Corinthians,  the  strictness  of  that 
law  he  was  to  inculcate,  and  the  wealth  of  those  promises 
which  are  for  the  pure  in  heart.  And  he  realized  the  obstacles 
in  his  way.  Familiar  in  his  own  native  Tarsus  with  the  de- 
grading power  of  heathenism,  he  had  been  led,  like  the  ancient 
prophet,  within  the  curtains  of  the  dark  "  chambers  of 
imagery,"  and  seen  the  secret  abominations  of  the  shrine,  and 
with  the  same  righteous  indignation  he  uttered  his  rebukes. 
But  with  what  arguments  could  he  meet  these  slaves  of  sense  ? 
With  what  weapons  could  he  contend  against  that  subtle 
spirit  of  profligacy  which  there  reigned  so  supreme,  that — 
what  the  Apostle  declares  of  the  whole  Gentile  world  was 
most  emphatically  true  of   them — they  not   only  did  these 


LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE.  165 

abandoned  deeds  themselves,  but  also  had  pleasure  in  those 
that  did  them  ?*  With  what  motives  could  he  address  those 
grovelling  spirits — break  the  chains  of  corruption  which  bound 
them  down — or  awaken  them  to  higher  and  holier  thoughts  ? 
He  used  only  the  simple  arguments  of  the  Gospel ;  but  the 
mighty  results  produced,  proved  that  here  as  elsewhere,  it  was 
**  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation."  What,  then,  were  these 
arguments  ? 

The  first  was — ^the  Cross  of  Christ.  St.  Paul,  himself,  states 
this  in  the  beginning  of  his  Epistle  to  the  Church  at  Corinth, 
as  he  reviews  his  ministry  among  them.  "  And  I,  brethren, 
when  I  came  to  you,  came  not  with  excellency  of  speech  or 
of  wisdom,  declaring  unto  you»the  testimony  of  God.  For  I 
determined  not  to  know  any  thing  among  you,  save  Jesus 
Christ,  and  Him  crucified."f  But  how  strange  would  have 
seemed  this  course  to  the  worldly-wise — ^to  bring  before  the 
pleasure-loving  Corinthians  the  sad  and  mournful  doctrine  of 
the  Cross — to  begin  at  the  outset  with  what  must  have  been 
the  most  oflfensive  truth  of  our  faith — and  to  require  them  to 
turn  from  their  enticing  idolatry  to  a  religion  whose  earliest 
lesson  was  thus  one  of  tears  and  agony !  And  yet,  the  ex- 
perience of  eighteen  hundred  years  has  shown  the  wisdom 
of  the  plan  adopted — that  there  is  a  true  philosophy  in 
meeting  all  who  first  hear  the  Gospel — the  Greek  and  the 
barbarian,  the  bigoted  Jew,  and  the  enervated  Corinthian — 

*  Eomam,  i.  32.  f  1  Cor.  ii.  1,  2. 


166  LICENTIOUS   SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

With  this  same  truth  which  Hes  at  the  very  foundation  of  oui' 
feiith. 

Look,  then,  at  the  effect  of  this  doctrine.  It  revealed  to  the 
Corinthians  the  meaning  of  the  world's  history — the  end  of  all 
that  succession  of  changes  which  had  been  going  on  since  time 
began.  For  the  first  time,  to  their  eyes,  the  records  of  the 
past  were  linked  together  by  the  Unity  of  one  great  purpose. 
They  looked  back  to  the  ages  which  had  gone — to  those  dy- 
nasties of  the  elder  world  which,  one  after  another,  had  passed 
away — to  the  revolutions  which  had  broken  the  sceptre  of  em- 
pires, and  made  Egypt,  and  Babylon,  and  Media,  in  turn  the 
rulers  of  the  earth — and  they  now  learned  that  nothing  was  by 
chance,  but  was  intended  to  exert  its  influence  on  a  people, 
scattered  over  the  hills  of  Palestine,  and  looked  upon  with 
scorn  by  the  polished  Grecian.  They  found  that  each  change 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth  had  its  specific  object,  and  was 
but  to  prepare  the  way  for  that  Mighty  Dehverer,  whose  blood 
was  yet  crimson  on  the  Hill  of  Calvary,  and  who  had  been 
seen  in  the  flesh  by  those  who  still  lived  to  tell  the  story  of 
His  life.  And  then,  looking  forward,  they  saw  that  all 
things  in  the  coming  destiny  of  this  world  turned  upon  its 
reception  of  this  doctrine,  and  that  the  shadowy  future, 
whatever  it  might  bring  forth,  would  only  work  out  its  con- 
summation. 

It  solved,  too,  for  them,  the  enigma  of  life.  They  saw  this 
present  existence  to  be  full  of  opposing  elements,  until  men 
often  lost  faith  in  all  they  once  had  reverenced — ancient  creeds 


LICElSnOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  167 

were  deprived  of  their  majesty — and  new  doctrines  could  exert 
no  power  over  their  minds.  They  felt  themselves  struggling 
against  a  destiny  they  could  not  conquer,  and  sunk,  therefore, 
into  sullen  despair,  or  met  the  changes  of  life  mth  reckless 
levity.  They  were  ever  encountering  sorrows  and  afflictions 
whose  object  they  could  not  understand.  Life  was  filled  with 
contradictions  for  which  they  had  no  solution.  Where,  then, 
was  the  interpreter  to  teach  them  its  mysteries  ?  Where  was 
the  key  to  all  these  things — the  event  which  could  throw  its 
light  upon  the  tangled  web  of  human  life,  and  dispel  its  shad- 
ows ?  It  is  the  crucifixion  of  the  Son  of  God,  which  hnks  to- 
-gether  all  the  shifting  scenes'  around  us — harmonizes  all  the 
varied  interests  of  this  world — and  brings  into  one  view -the 
past  and  the  future. 

Thus  this  sublime  truth  gave  the  Corinthian  hearer  a  reason 
for  the  dispensations  which  befel  him,  and  he  learned  to  recog- 
nise in  them  the  discipline  of  life.  In  the  pursuit  of  pleasure 
he  must  often  have  felt  disappointment  to  be  his  lot,  and  his 
heart  whispered  to  him  the  lesson,  "  Vanity  of  vanity,  all  is 
vanity."  The  Cross  of  Christ,  then,  not  only  uttered  the  same 
voice  to  him,  but  gave  the  reason  of  that  void  which  exists  in 
every  human  heart.  It  showed  that  all  this  was  the  punish- 
ment of  sin,  and  that  the  solemn  sacrifice  on  the  Mount  was 
the  propitiation  for  the  iniquities  of  a  fallen  world.  It  explained, 
therefore,  the  cause  of  those  sorrows  which  press  upon  suffer- 
ing, sad  Humanity — 


168  LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT-OF  THE  AGE. 


"  the  weight  of  care, 

Tliat  crushes  into  diunb  despair 
One-half  the  human  race."* 


But  it  hold  out,  also,  the  remedy,  while  it  appealed  to  the  heart 
by  every  argument  which  could  touch  one  not  utterly  "  past 
feeling."  And  when  the  world  again  arrayed  its  enticements 
before  them,  from  the  heights  of  Calvary  there  came  a  warning 
which  proclaimed  their  worthlessness.  "  It  is  the  death  of  the 
Eternal  Word  of  God,  made  flesh,  which  is  our  great  lesson 
how  to  think  and  how  to  speak  of  this  world.  His  Cross  has 
put  its  true  value  upon  every  thing  which  we  see,  upon  all 
fortunes,  all  advantages,  all  ranks,  all  dignities,  all  pleasures ;  ^ 
upon  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  and  the  lust  of  the  eyes,  and  the 
pride  of  life.  It  has  set  a  price  upon  the  excitements,  the  ri- 
valries, the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  desires,  the  efforts,  the  tri- 
umphs of  mortal  man.  It  has  brought  together  and  made 
consistent  all  that  seemed  discordant  and  aimless.  It  has 
taught  us  how  to  Uve,  how  to  use  this  world,  what  to  expect, 
what  to  desire,  what  to  hope.     It  is  the  tone  into  which  all  the 

strains  of  this  world's  music  are  ultimately  to  be  resolved 

In  the  Cross,  and  Him  who  hung  upon  it,  all  things  meet ;  all 
things  subserve  it,  all  things  need  it.  It  is  their  centre  and 
then*  interpretation.  For  He  was  lifted  up  upon  it,  that  He 
might  draw  all  men  and  all  things  unto  Him."t 

Was  not  this,  then,  a  startling  doctrine  to  break  in  upon  the 

*  Longfell&w.  f  NevrntarHs  Sermons,  v.  VI.  pp.  93,  94. 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  169 

dreams  of  those  who  had  thought  only  of  pleasure — to  teach 
them,  for  the  first  time,  to  look  below  the  surface  of  the  strug- 
gling life  around  them  and  within  them — and  to  call  into  exer- 
cise a  class  of  feeling  which  no  other  argument  had  ever 
reached  ?  We  see  a  reason,  then,  even  in  the  light  of  human 
wisdom,  why  it  should  have  been  received  by  the  Coiinthians 
**  in  demonstration  of  the  Spirit  and  with  power." 

And  connected  with  this,  necessarily  came  the  subhme  doc- 
trine of  man's  immortality.  It  was  the  absence  of  an  assured 
hope  on  this  point  which  led  to  much  of  the  degradation  of  the 
ancient  world.  There  came  no  warnings  from  the  land  of 
spirits  to  direct  their  steps — they  felt  that  no  punishment 
could  reach  them  in  this  world — and  therefore  "  the  hearts  of 
the  sons  of  men  were  fully  set  in  them  to  do  evil."  Life — 
this  present  life  which  was  fleeting  so  fast  away — became  every 
thing.  The  teeming  earth  was  only  to  them  a  place  to  trade 
and  barter  for  a  few  years — ^its  paths  were  worn  by  the  foot- 
steps of  those  who  had  gone  before — the  heavens  above  ad- 
dressed no  lesson  to  their  hearts — ^and  all  was  "  of  the  earth, 
earthly."  They  felt,  that  after  for  a  tune  they  had  trodden 
the  same  dull  round,  they  must  go,  they  knew  not  whither, 
and  the  stars,  in  their  silent  courses,  be  looking  down  upon 
their  graves.  Is  it  strange,  then,  that  they  grasped  at  the  cup 
of  pleasure  which  was  within  their  reach,' and  with  no  elevating 
hopes  in  the  future  sank  to  that  degradation  which  character- 
ized the  Corinthians  ?  Their  maxim  was,  "  Let  us  eat  and 
drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die.'* 

16 


ITO  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

The  voice  of  the  Apostle  first  broke  in  upon  this  dream. 
The  instructions  which  he  imparted  first  dispelled  this  dark- 
ness, and  opened  to  them  a  view  of  realities  of  which  the  earth- 
ly and  sensual  had  never  imagined.  "  Thou  shalt  not  die," 
was  his  earnest  declaration,  and  he  unveiled  to  them  an  exist- 
ence "  unmeasured  by  the  flight  of  years" — a  wasteless  eternity 
through  which  they  must  exist.  He  disclosed  to  them  that 
"  life  and  immortality"  which  the  new  faith  had  "  brought  to 
light,"  and  seizing  on  the  actions  of  this  present  existence,  gave 
them  dignity  by  linking  them  to  the  next  world,  and  showing 
that  there  they  had  their  influence.  He  taught  the  elevating 
truth,  that  this  life  is  but  the  germ  of  another,  and  that  not 
until  it  has  dawned  upon  us  will  all  things  have  their  fulness 
and  completion.  He  revealed  a  pure  and  unsensual  Heaven 
for  the  just — converted  speculation  into  certainty — and  proved 
that  the  soul  did  not  yearn  in  vain,  when  visions  of  an  immor- 
tality flitted  before  it. 

Now,  we  can  scarcely  imagine  in  this  day  the  weight  with 
which  such  declarations  fell  upon  the  ears  of  those  who  had 
been  trained  under  a  form  of  Paganism.  They  heard  "  strange 
tidings."  They  learned  the  mystery  of  death.  They  were 
raised  from  the  damps  and  shadows  of  their  old  belief,  and 
began  to  breathe  the  pure  air  of  heaven.  Life  beyond  the 
grave  had  hitherto  been  a  thing  hoped  for,  but  not  assured. 
It  had  furnished  a  theme  for  the  speculations  of  the  philoso- 
pher and  the  dream  of  the  poet,  and  we  may  now  see  it  shad- 
owed forth  in  the  sculptured  butterfly  on  their  tombstones— 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  lYl 

the  representation  of  their  Psyche,  of  the  animating,  survi- 
ving soul — an  intimation  that  it  was  to  reappear  once  more  in 
a  new  form  and  region  of  being.  But,  unsanctioned  by  any 
divine  authority,  the  doctrine  never  sank  into  the  hearts  of  the 
people,  or  became  a  principle  of  action.  There  was  no  fixed 
behef — no  realizing  sense  of  the  retributions  of  another  world 
— sufficiently  strong  to  dissipate  the  illusions  of  this,  or  to 
break  the  power  of  its  fascinations.  But  far  different  was  the 
case  when  their  hopes  became  a  certainty,  and  they  reahzed 
that  they  were  Sons  of  Immortality,  It  became  a  new 
tie  to  bind  them  to  their  Lord,  for  they  learned  that  it  was 
"because  He  lived,  they  should  live  also."  They  felt  facul- 
ties within  them,  waking  up  as  it  were  from  a  long  torpor,  and 
they  rejoiced  in  the  thought  that  these  should  go  on  expand- 
ing forever,  and  springing  up  to  a  renewed  existence,  long  after 
the  stars  themselves  had  been  quenched.  They  realized  what 
the  Apostle  meant  by  "  the  power  of  an  endless  life."  What, 
then,  to  them  were  the  pleasures  of  the  dissolute  city  around — 
the  crowded  circus — the  glittering  theatre — the  voluptuous 
banquets — and  the  thousand  allurements  of  sense  which 
courted  their  notice?  These  must  soon  pass  away  and  be 
forgotten.  But  they  carried  Infinity  in  their  bosoms — were 
linked  inseparably  to  that  which  could  not  di.e — and  when  the 
earthly  tabernacle  had  crumbled  into  dust,  were  to  find  that 
all  time  was  their  heritage  and  domain.  Ages  might  pass 
away — the  globe  itself  be  blotted  from  existence — but  their 
wheel  of  hfe  should  be  ever  rolling  round  the  circle  of  eternity. 


1T2  LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

and  they  gathering  immortality  by  the  side  of  the  river  of  hfe. 
They  trampled  therefore  under  their  feet  all  that  before  had 
enslaved  their  senses,  and  adopted  as  their  rule  of  life  the 
earnest  exhortation  of  him  who  had  first  led  them  to  the  truth : 
•"  But  this  I  say,  brethren,  the  time  is  short :  it  remaineth  that 
both  they  that  have  wives  be  as  though  they  had  none  ;  and 
they  that  weep,  as  though  they  wept  not  ;  and  they  that  re- 
joice, as  though  they  rejoiced  not ;  and  they  that  buy,  as 
though  they  possessed  not ;  and  they  that  use  this  world,  as 
not  abusing  it :  for  the  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away."* 

But  Christianity  went  even  farther.  It  not  only  held  out 
to  them  the  certainty  of  an  endless  life,  but  it  declared  that 
the  body  also  was  to  escape  from  the  power  of  death  and  rise 
again  to  an  imperishable  .existence.  And  this  was  beyond  the 
wildest  dreams  of  Paganism.  The  idea  that  this  scattered  dust 
should  be  reanimated — that  it  could  for  centuries  mingle  in 
every  form  of  vegetable  life,  be  blown  about  by  the  winds  of 
heaven,  or  swept  upon  the  waves  of  the  surging  sea,  and  then 
be  again  collected  into  its  old  forms  of  strength  and  beauty — 
was  something  which  had  never  entered  into  the  conceptions 
of  any  of  their  philosophers.  The  knowledge  of  this  perpe- 
tuity of  human  nature  came  not  till  the  New  Dispensation  was 
proclaimed,  and  it  received  its  confirmation  from  the  resurrec- 
tion of  their  Lord.  And  nowhere  does  the  Apostle  enter  so 
fully  into  the  proofs  of  this  sublime  doctrine,  as  in  his  epistle  to 

*  1  Cor.  vil  29. 


LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE.  1^3 

these  same  Corinthians.  He  meets  the  objections  of  the  skep- 
tic, and,  in  the  loftiest  style  of  eloquence,  contrasts  the  feeble- 
ness of  this  present  state  with  the  glory  which  awaited  even 
the  frail  tabernacle  they  inhabited  : — "  It  is  sown  in  corrup- 
tion, it  is  raised  in  incorruption ;  it  is  sown  in  dishonor,  it  is 
raised  in  glory  ;  it  is  sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power ; 
it  is  sown  a  natural  body,  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body."*  And 
when  he  had  placed  before  them  his  great  argument,  he  sums 
up  all  with  the  inspiring  words : — "  Behold,  I  show  you  a  mys- 
tery ;  we  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be  changed,  in  a 
moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  ;  for  the 
trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible, 
and  we  shall  be  changed.  For  this  corruptible  must  put  on 
incorruption,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality.  So 
when  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption,  and  this 
mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then  shall  be  brought  to 
pass  the  saying  that  is  written.  Death  is  swallowed  up  in 
victory,  "f 

Stretching  out  before  them,  therefore,  was  a  path  bright 
with  the  beams  of  a  perpetual  day,  and  they  were  to  travel  it 
forever,  complete  in  every  attribute  of  their  nature,  the  body 
as  well  as  the  soul.  In  the  world  of  retribution  they  were  to 
be,  in  every  respect,  the  same  persons  who  waged  their  war- 
fare here.  It  is  "  this  mortal"  which  is  to  "  put  on  immor- 
tality."  What  a  vantage-groimd  then  did  the  Apostle  occupy. 


*  1  Cor.  XV.  42.  t  V.  51-54. 

15* 


I'r4  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

when  he  summoned  them  to  begin  that  mighty  journey  which 
led  from  darkness  to  light — from  corruption  to  immortahty  ! 
What  an  argument  was  furnished  him  against  the  prevailing 
sins  of  Corinth,  when  he  exhorted  his  converts  to  reverence 
even  this  earthly  body,  for  now  it  was  the  habitation  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  hereafter  should  go  with  them  through  eter- 
nity !  **  Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  temple  of  God,  and  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you  ?  If  any  man  defile  the 
temple  of  God,  him  shall  God  destroy  ;  for  the  temple  of  God 
is  holy,  which  temple  ye  are."* 

But  there  was  still  another  argument  most  efficacious  to  win 
the  attention  of  the  profligate  inhabitants  of  the  City  of  the 
Isthmus.  It  was  the  visible  hving  for  another  world  which 
they  saw  in  the  hves  of  those  who  proclaimed  the  word.  It  is 
a  strange  contradiction  in  our  nature,  that  no  argument  can  win 
the  devoted  adherents  of  pleasure  from  their  degradation  so 
readily  as  a  summons  to  endure  suff'ering  and  self-denial  in 
some  lofty  cause — nothing  can  turn  the  worldly-minded  so 
soon  from  their  empty  dreams,  as  an  exhibition  of  some  one 
Hving  visibly  and  entirely  for  that  hfe  which  is  beyond  life. 
There  is  something  in  the  heart,  even  of  the  most  fallen,  which 
responds  to  such  appeals,  and  which  kindles  the  desire  up 
within  it  to  tread  in  the  footsteps  of  those  who  can  thus  sacri- 
fice the  present  for  the  future.  It  was  this  principle  which 
invested  martyrdom  with  such  power,  and  made  the  blood  shed 

*  1  Cor.  iil  16. 


LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE.  175 

on  the  scaffold  or  at  the  stake,  **  the  seed  of  the  Church." 
Where  a  view  of  the  agonies  of  the  sufferer  terrified  one  das- 
tard into  submission,  it  carried  conviction  to  the  minds  of  hun- 
dreds, and  awakened  an  heroic  emulation  in  their  breasts  to 
share  the  lot  of  those  who  could  thus  even  die  for  their  faith. 
But  to  prove  this,  we  need  not  go  back  to  Apostolic  times. 
The  annals  of  the  Church  contain,  in  all  ages,  instances  regis- 
tered to  show  the  moral  power  of  our  faith,  when  taught  by 
men  who  came  in  self-denial.  From  among  these,  then,  we 
will  select  a  single  one — perhaps  the  most  remarkable  in  the 
history  of  our  race — to  illustrate  this  point. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century  there  dwelt  in  a 
mountain  town  of  Italy,  the  son  of  an  obscure  merchant,  who, 
turning  from  the  plodding  cares  of  his  father,  was  the  foremost 
in  every  feat,  and  the  gayest  in  every  festival  among  his  towns- 
men. But,  stricken  by  disease  in  the  very  dawn  of  manhood, 
he  was  brought  to  the  gates  of  death,  and  forced  for  a  time  to 
gaze  on  the  realities  before  him,  and  to  estimate  the  value  of 
those  pleasures  to  which  he  had  been  devoted.  He  arose  from 
his  bed  of  suflfering,  **  a  new  creature."  Henceforth  his 
thoughts  were  absorbed  in  the  imperishable  life  he  hoped  to 
win.  His  days  were  passed  in  devotion — ^he  wept  and  fasted — 
his  alms  were  abundant — and  he  wandered  alone  over  the  Um- 
brian  hills,  communing  with  his  God.  But  the  sacrifice  was 
not  yet  perfect.  As  he  knelt  before  the  altar  in  an  agony  of 
prayer,  a  voice  seemed  to  say  in  the  depths  of  his  soul — "  Pro- 
vide neither  gold  nor  silver,  nor  brass  in  your  purses,  nor  scrip 


lYG  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

for  your  journey,  neither  two  coats,  neither  shoes,  nor  yet 
staves."  He  applied  these  words  to  himself,  and  obeyed  at 
once.  Parting  with  every  thing  he  possessed,  but  the  coarse 
robe  of  serge  drawn  round  him  with  a  common  cord,  he  went 
forth  to  wander  as  a  pilgrim  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  without 
M  home,  and  dependent  for  his  support  on  the  precarious  boun- 
ty of  his  fellow-men.  He  mingled  with  them  as  a  men- 
dicant, and  employed  himself  in  the  most  revolting  duties 
he  could  select — the  care  of  the  inmates  of  the  Leprous  Hos- 
pital. 

Such  was  the  beginning  of  the  career  of  St.  Francis  of  As- 
sisi.  He  proclaimed  that  Poverty  was  his  affianced  bride,  and 
to  the  hour  of  death  he  was  true  to  the  vows  of  his  betroth- 
ment.  It  was  the  profession  ever  on  his  lips,  that  he  was  her 
devoted  husband,  and  the  whole  Franciscan  Order  their  off- 
spring. And  through  the  wide  world  this  union  has  been 
celebrated.  Bossuet,  the  noblest  orator  of  France,  eulogizes  it 
in  his  panegyric  on  the  saint — Dante,  in  his  "  Divina  Comme- 
dia,"  has  composed  the  Epithalamium* — and  Art,  too,  has 
rendered  her  tribute.  On  the  walls  of  the  Church  of  the  Sa- 
gro  Convento  in  Assisi,  the  traveller  may  still  see  a  fading  fresco 
which  once  came  bright  and  beautiful  from  the  pencil  of  Giotto. 
It  is  the  picture  of  a  marriage,  and  if  he  knows  not  the  story, 
he  will  wonder  at  the  dress  of  the  bride  on  whose  finger  the 
ring  is  about  being  placed.     She  is  indeed  crowned  with  light 

*  n  Paradiso,  xi. 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  177 

and  roses,  but  her  apparel  is  sordid,  and  her  feet  are  torn  by 
the  sharp  stones  and  briers  over  which  she  is  passing.  These 
are  the  nuptials  of  St.  Francis  and  Poverty. 

But  if  this  was  the  misappHcation  of  a  passage  of  Scripture, 
and  perhaps  a  derangement  of  intellect  which  made  the  Father 
of  the  M^dicants  apply  to  himself  this  charge  of  the  Saviour 
to  the  seventy,  yet  still  it  had  its  effect.  The  gay  revellers 
with  whom  he  had  once  mingled  could  not  look  upon  him  un- 
influenced, and  the  earnest  words  he  uttered,  coming  direct 
from  his  heart,  and  acted  out  in  his  life,  arrested  their  atten- 
tion. The  population  of  Assisi  were  moved  by  the  sight  of 
poverty  and  self-denial  for  Christ's  sake,  and  others  also  be- 
came candidates  for  the  same  sublime  self-sacrifice*.  Adopting 
St.  Francis  as  their  leader,  they  assumed  his  austere  dress,  and 
enrolled  their  names  as  members  of  the  Order  he  had  founded. 
Stripping  themselves  of  all  temporal  wealth,  they  became  vol- 
untarily bound  by  vows  of  poverty,  perpetual  ceUbacy,  and 
implicit  obedience  to  their  ecclesiastical  superiors.  They  were 
to  be  public  mendicants,  not  soliciting  alms  as  a  favor,  but  as  a 
right  with  which  Christ  had  endowed  the  poor,  and  seeking  in 
the  severity  of  the  discipline  they  inflicted  on  themselves,  the 
perfection  their  Lord  required.  A  few  years  passed,  and  we 
may  see  this  humble  individual  in  the  splendid  palace  of  the 
Lateran,  bowing  at  the  feet  of  Innocent  III.,  receiving  from 
him  a  confirmation  of  the  Order  he  had  established,  and  au- 
thority to  go  forth  as  the  enthusiastic  missionary  of  Rome,  by 
the  watchwords  of  Poverty,  Continence,  Lowliness,  and  Self- 


1T8  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

denial,  commanding  the  sympathies  of  the  multitude  in  her 
behalf.  Then,  renown  and  influence  gathered  around  the  home- 
less Italian  friar.  Processions,  chanting  litanies,  met  him — pros- 
elytes crowded  around  him  to  repeat  the  solemn  vows  which 
severed  them  from  the  world — and  wealth  flowed  in  to  him 
who  had  abandoned  it  forever,  that  convents  and*^  churches 
might  be  erected  to  perpetuate  his  principles.  Ten  years  from 
the  foundation  of  the  Order,  and  they  met  to  celebrate  its  sec- 
ond General  Chapter.  But  no  building  within  the  walls  of 
Assisi  could  hold  their  multitude,  and  on  the  plain  around  the 
city  five  thousand  Franciscans  assembled  to  debate  on  the  con- 
quest of  the  world.  A  few  years  later,  and  amid  prostrate  and 
weeping  crowds,  the  emaciated  body  of  St.  Francis  w.as  depos- 
ited in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  of  Angels  ;  but.  his  work  had 
been  most  thoroughly  accomplished.  His  followers  were  scat- 
tered over  all  Christendom — a  mighty  army  of  Evangehsts — 
and  every  land  was  familiar  with  the  emblem  of  the  Franciscan 
cord.  More  than  six  centuries  have  since  passed  away,  and 
this  wide- spread  fraternity  has  survived  the  opposition  of  its 
rivals — the  sneers  of  Erasmus,  and  Wiclif,  and  Luther — ^and 
the  denunciations  of  so  many  among  the  wise  and  eloquent  of 
all  Europe.  At  this  day  it  claims  seven  thousand  five  hundred 
communities,  numbering  more  than  two  hundred  thousand  in- 
mates who  bow  to  its  rule.  Its  statutes  are  a  living  code, 
written  in  the  hearts  of  multitudes  in  every  land  through  the 
Christian  world,  and  nearly  three  millions  who  have  already 
gone  to  their  account,  shall  at  the  last  day  be  forced  to  testify 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  1T9 

to  the  value  of  this  stern  law  as  a  guide  for  life  and  a  prepara- 
tion for  eternity. 

How  strange,  then,  this  history,  as  we  look  back  upon  it, 
and  then  forward  at  the  power  still  to  be  exerted  over  coming 
generations  by  one  who  has  for  centuries  been  sleeping  in  the 
dust !  It  seems  mightier  than  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  almost 
any  other  among  the  sons  of  men.  It  changed  the  whole 
course  of  this  life  with  *'  a  multitude  which  no  man  can  num- 
ber." But  this  is  not  all.  It  was  a  discipline  and  a  prepara- 
tion for  eternity.  Its  moral  power  passes  over  the  gulf  of 
death — survives  the  shock  of  the  archangel's  trump — and  is 
felt  through  the  bowers  of  Paradise,  or  among  the  gloomy 
caverns  of  the  lost.  It  will  go  on  forever,  world  without  end. 
Its  real  influence  begins  when  its  disciples  have  entered  eter- 
nity, and  the  question  is  to  be  settled,  whether  it  has  led  them 
safely  through  their  pilgrimage  here,  and  amid  the  sorrows  of 
this  life  won  for  them  a  crown  of  glory.  It  was  an  entire  sub- 
jugation of  body  and  soul — a  perfect  victory  and  control  over 
the  whole  man — ^which  assumed,  as  it  were,  aU  responsibility 
for  his  welfare,  both  in  this  world  and  the  next. 

The  point,  then,  to  which  we  would  come  is  this.  How  can 
we  account  for  this  influence  of  the  Franciscan  friar  ?  Ob- 
scurely bom,  and  putting  from  him  wealth,  and  state,  and  eve- 
ry thing  which  wins  the  attention  of  men,  whence  came  his 
mighty  power  over  so  many  countless  thousands — a  power 
which  induced  them  to  break  away  from  the  chains  of  custom, 
and  the  things  to  which  the  heart  most  closely  cleaves,  and  to 


180  LICENTIOUS  SPIEIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

trample  the  dictates  of  nature  and  the  ties  of  Hfe  beneath  their 
feet  ?  Where  was  the  winning  influence  which  caused  the  garb 
of  the  Franciscans  to  be  seen  in  the  camp  of  the  Crusaders — in 
the  crowded  market-place — in  the  halls  of  the  Universities — 
and  even  in  the  courts  of  princes  ?  We  can  account  for  it  only 
from  the  fact,  that  he  brought  the  lessons  of  self-denial  and 
the  reahty  of  eternal  interests  visibly  before  those  whom  he 
addressed.  He  was  incited,  indeed,  by  a  misconception  of  a 
divine  command,  yet  still  it  was  a  divine  command,  and  he  act- 
ed it  out.  He  might  have  sent  forth  from  his  closet  the  most 
eloquent  appeals  to  inculcate  self-denial,  and  yet  not  even  the 
surface  of  society  been  ruffled  by  his  burning  words  ;  but  when 
he  stood  before  them  the  impersonation  of  his  own  system,  the 
very  depths  were  stirred  with  unwonted  agitation.  The  sordid 
dress  and  cheerless  life  of  the  Father  of  the  Mendicants  ap- 
pealed to  their  senses.  They  recognised  in  his  obedience,  mis- 
taken as  it  was  in  its  form,  the  impress  of  the  Cross.  It 
brought  home  to  them  the  utter  insignificance  of  all  worldly 
interests,  and  the  friendless  wanderer  spake  to  their  hearts 
with  a  power  which  could  not  have  been  wielded  by  one 
"  clothed  in  soft  raiment."* 

Now  this  was  the  principle  which  in  the  Apostles  acted  and 


*  For  the  idea  on  which  this  illustration  is  founded,  we  are  indebted  to 
a  note  to  Bishop  Whittingham's  Matriculation  Sermon  before  the  General 
Seminary  in  1840.  For  the  facts  in  St.  Francis'  life,  see  Histoire  de  St. 
Francis  d'Assisi.    Par  Emile  Chatin  de  Malan,  Paris,  1840. 

•J 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  181 

wrought  upon  those  to  whom  they  preached.  Theu*  hearers 
felt  that  those  were  no  idle  words  they  uttered.  They  beheld 
men,  who  themselves  hved  only  for  eternal  realities,  and  who 
trod  the  earth  during  their  appointed  days,  only  that  they 
might  win  souls  to_  the  faith,  and  spread  more  widely  the  mes- 
sage they  were  commissioned  to  bear.  Bold  and  fervent — 
nursed  i|^  vicissitudes — prepared  for  torments,  and  armed  for 
death — they  united  the  lofty  energy  of  the  martyr  with  the 
gentle  love  of  the  saint.  Certain  of  their  sins,  but  doubtful  of 
their  salvation,  they  felt  that  the  crown  was  yet  to  be  gained. 
They  were  men  whose  faith  was  not  an  abstraction,  but  who 
evidently  believed  that  Christ  had  come  down  from  heaven  to 
die,  since  such  was  their  love  for  Him,  that  they  chose  to  be 
like  Him  in  all  things,  even  in  suffering.  Amid  the  profligacy 
of  Corinth,  this  was  a  new  revelation,  and  the  ministers  of 
Christianity  spake  with  an  influence  with  which  none  others 
had  ever  been  gifted.  The  words,  indeed,  must  have  come 
with  power  from  men,  before  whose  upward  gaze  the  Celestial 
gates  were  opened  so  vividly,  that  they  were  ready  at  any 
time  to  throw  aside  this  tabernacle  of  clay,  if  by  so  doing  they 
could  rush  upward  to  their  reward — men,  for  whom  the  stake 
had  no  terrors,  and  who  would  have  welcomed  the  fires  oi 
martyrdom  with  an  heroic  joy,  when,  by  the  baptism  of  blood, 
they  could  win  a  crown  of  glory — men,  who,  with  a  lofty 
courage,  invited  them  to  share  in  self-denial  and  sorrow,  in  all 
that  could  try  the  spirit  and  develop  the  hidden  strength  of 
the  soul.     All,   therefore,  that   was  left   of  the   divine  and 

16 


182  LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE. 

spiritual  in  their  natures ■ — all  that  sin  had  not  wasted  and 
trampled  into  the  dust — responded  to  the  call,  and  the  Apostle 
found  that  even  in  Corinth  were  *'  such  as  should  be  saved." 

Such  was  the  antagonist  our  faith  had  to  meet  in  the  luxu- 
rious City  of  the  Isthmus,  and  such  were  the  arguments  by 
which  it  startled  the  votaries  of  pleasure  from  their  fatal  in- 
difference, and  roused  the  profligate  to  higher  aq^  holier 
thoughts.  And  yet  in  this  case,  as  in  that  of  Judaism  and 
Philosophy,  the  work  was  accomplished,  and  the  Gospel  was 
established  amid  all  the  sensuality  of  that  degraded  city.  A 
single  sentence,  in  the  Epistle  of  St.  Paul,  tells  the  story  of  its 
success — "  The  Church  of  God  which  is  at  Corinth."*  There 
it  stood,  like  Milton's  personification  of  Purity,  amid  "  the 
monstrous  rout"  of  Comus,  "  rolling  with  pleasure  in  their 
sensual  stye."  It  was  surrounded,  indeed,  by  temptations,  and 
too  often  its  members  may  not  have  been  entirely  freed  from 
the  influence  of  that  old  idolatry  they  professed  to  abandon, 
yet  still,  as  a  Church,  it  was  steadfast  to  the  faith.  And 
when,  in  his  first  Epistle,  St.  Paul  had  condemned  them  for 
glaring  violations  of  the  laws  of  the  Gospel,  we  learn  from  his 
second  letter,  that  these  had  been  amended :  "  For  though  I 
made  you  sorry  with  a  letter,  I  do  not  repent,  though  I  did 
repent ;  for  I  perceive  that  the  same  Epistle  hath  made  you 
sorry,  though  it  were  but  for  a  season.  .  .  For  behold,  this 
selfsame  thing,  that  ye  sorrowed  after  a  godly  sort,  what  care- 

*  1  Cbr.  1.  2 


LICENTIOUS  SPIRIT  OF  THE  AGE.  183 

fulness  it  wrought  in  you ;  yea,  what  clearing  of  yourselves ; 
yea,  what  indignation ;  yea,  what  fear ;  yea,  what  vehement  de- 
sire ;  yea,  what  zeal ;  yea,  what  revenge  !  In  all  things  ye  have 
approved  yourselves  to  be  clear  in  this  matter."  And  he  con- 
cludes with  the  declaration,  "  I  rejoice,  therefore,  that  I  have 
confidence  in  you  in  all  things."*  And  so  the  Church  grew 
and  strengthened  as  years  went  by ;  and  long  afterwards  we 
find  two  other  Epistles,  written  to  the  Corinthians,  by  St.  Cle- 
ment, in  the  name  of  the  whole  Church  at  Rome,  and  though 
he  is  obhged  to  reprove  them  for  a  renewal  of  those  dissensions 
which  had  happened  in  the  days  of  St.  Paul,  yet  we  can  learn, 
from  the  general  tone  he  adopts,  how  high  was  their  stand 
among  the  Eastern  Churches. 

Thus  it  is  that  we  trace  the  progress  of  our  faith,  as  it  went 
on,  "  conquering  and  to  conquer."  Thus  we  learn  the  lesson, 
that  it  hath  weapons  for  every  enemy,  and  arguments  to  meet 
every  form  of  error  and  sin  ;  yea,  that  it  hath  power  even  to 
break  the  chains  of  the  slave  of  sensuality,  and  bid  him  come 
forth,  renewed  in  spirit — a  freeman  in  Christ  Jesus. 

*  2  Cor.  vii.  8,  11,  16. 


IV. 
BARBARISM. 


When  Xavier  was  preparing  to  go  forth  on  that  mission 
which  stamped  his  influence  on  miUions  through  the  East,  and 
gave  him  an  undying  name  in  the  annals  of  heroic  Christian 
daring,  his  friend  Rodriguez,  who  shared  his  apartment  in  the 
Hospital  at  Rome,  was  awakened  in  the  night  by  his  earnest 
exclamations.  He  heard  him  tossing  restlessly  on  his  couch ; 
and  at  times  there  came  from  the  lips  of  the  sleeping  man  the 
agitated  appeal,  "  Yet  more,  0  my  God  !  yet  more  !"  In  the 
morning,  he  asked  Xavier  in  vain  for  an  explanation  of  "  the 
dream  which  made  him  afraid,  and  his  thoughts  upon  his  bed 
which  troubled  him."  It  was  not  until  months  afterwards, 
when  about  to  leave  his  native  land  forever,  that  he  revealed 
the  vision.  He  had  seen  in  his  slumber  the  wild  and  terrible 
future  of  his  career  spread  out  before  him.  There  were  bar- 
barous regions,  islands,  and  continents,  and  mighty  empires, 
which  he  was  to  win  to  the  truth.  Storms,  indeed,  swept 
around  them,  and  hunger  and  thirst  were  everywhere,  and 
death  in  many  a  fearful  form,  yet  he  shrank  not  back.  He  was 
willing  to  dare  the  penalty,  if  he  could  only  win  the  prize. 

16* 


186  BARBARISM. 


Nay,  lie  yearned  for  still  wider  fields  of  labor,  and  with  a  pas- 
sion as  absorbing  as  the  ambition  which  leads  on  the  statesman 
or  warrior,  filling  every  faculty,  and  haunting  him  even  in  his 
slumber,  he  exclaimed,  "  Yet  more,  0  my  God  !  yet  more  !" 
The  meditations  of  the  day  shaped  the  visions  of  the  night, 
and  revealed  the  tone  and  character  of  his  zeal — its  insatiate 
reaching  unto  the  things  that  were  before.  Well,  then,  might 
Loyola  write  to  him,  "  Eternity  only,  Francis,  is  sufficient  for 
such  a  heart  as  yours :  its  kingdom  of  glory  alone  is  worthy 
of  it :  be  ambitious,  be  magnanimous,  but  aim  at  the  loftiest 
mark." 

Was  not  this  the  spirit  of  Apostolic  times?  And  was  it 
not  under  the  influence  of  such  feelings  that  St.  Paul  went 
forth  to  offer  his  life,  if  necessary,  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of 
Christian  duty — "to  fill  up  that  which  was  behind  of  the 
afflictions  of  Christ  for  His  body's  sake,  which  is  the  Church?"* 
It  seems  to  be  the  truth  taught  us  by  the  untiring  labors  of  his 
hfe.  We  haye  seen  him  already  in  conflict  with  Judaism — 
with  Grecian  Philosophy — and  with  the  Licentious  Spirit  of  the 
Age — hastening  on  from  victory  to  victory.  But  had  not 
enough  already  been  achieved — enough  to  satisfy  the  aspira- 
tions of  the  most  ardent  mind  ?  Many  years  had  passed  as  a 
dream — as  a  vapor  which  the  wind  sweepeth  away,  or  a  wave 
which  rushes  by  and  is  broken  on  the  shore.  Yet  they  had 
left  no  sting  of  wasted  hours  behind — the  stern  requirements 

*  Cot  L  24. 


BAEBAEISM.  18T 


of  his  Lord  had  been  ever  his  guide — and  in  many  lands  he 
had  recorded  a  testimony  which  should  speak  to  every  coming 
generation.  After  having  endured  "  the  heat  and  burden  of 
the  day,"  might  he  not  rest  as  the  twilight  drew  on,  and  the 
shadows  of  evening  gathered  about  him  ?  Might  he  not,  at 
last,  reap  the  full  recompense  of  his  toils,  and  devote  the 
coming  years  to  training  those  who  looked  to  him  as  their 
spiritual  father  ?  Might  he  not  sit  in  the  shadow  of  the  tree 
he  had  planted,  with  familiar  faces  around  him,  and  famihar 
voices  in  his  ears,  whose  tones  of  affection  were  to  grow  more 
kind  as  the  end  drew  nigh,  and  the  aged  man  was  soon  to  be 
seen  no  more  ?  If  he  could  not  dwell  with  his  own  country- 
men, might  he  not  with  those  whom,  at  Athens,  he  had  led 
from  their  idolatry,  or  with  his  beloved  converts  at  Corinth  ? 
A  voice  within  him  forbad  the  thought ;  and  as  he  looked  out 
over  the  world,  and  beheld  countless  nations  still  groping  on  in 
darkness,  we  beheve  the  spirit  of  his  prayer  was,  "  Yet  more, 
O  my  God  !  yet  more  !"  In  the  East  he  had  first  hfted  up 
his  voice  in  behalf  of  the  Gospel,  and  there  had  been  "  the 
beginning  of  his  strength."  Yet  it  was  in  the  West  that  he 
looked  for  still  greater  triumphs,  and  expected  to  realize  "  the 
excellency  of  dignity  and  the  excellency  of  power."  And 
thus,  making  life  one  long  day  of  trial  and  triumph,  he  was 
willing  to  wait  for  his  reward  in  Eternity. 

Hitherto  we  have  seen  the  faith  establishing  its  dominion 
among  civilized  nations,  and  overcoming  the  prejudices  of  the 
cultivated  and  refined.     Whether  men  believed  in  the  intellec- 


188  BAEBAEISM. 

tual  philosophy  of  Greece,  or  the  wide-spread  mythology 
which  in  that  land  was  moulded  into  forms  of  beauty,  and 
had  its  noblest  creations,  or  whether  they  lived  in  the  disso- 
lute City  of  the  Isthmus,  even  there  their  minds  bore  the  im- 
press of  that  atmosphere  of  art  and  literature  which  surrounded 
them,  and  the  intellect  was  trained  and  elevated.  But  now  we 
are  obliged  to  change  the  scene,  and  display  the  Apostle  of  the 
Gentiles  while  striving  to  impress  the  truth  upon  those  who 
knew  no  advantages  of  civilization.  At  what  period  of  his 
ministry  he  was  first  placed  in  such  circumstances,  we  are  not 
informed.  By  some  it  is  supposed  to  have  been  at  Melita, 
where,  after  his  shipwreck,  *'the  barbarous  people  showed 
them  no  little  kindness."*  These  are  conjectured  to  have  been 
the  remains  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  island,  who  had 
been  conquered  by  the  Romans.  Others,  indeed,  deny  that  the 
use  of  this  term  is  any  proof  of  want  of  civilization  in  those  to 
whom  it  was  applied,  as  nations  of  that  day  were  accustomed 
to  call  all  those  "  barbarians"  whose  language  they  did  not 
understand.!  But  however  this  may  have  been,  we  know  that 
as  St.  Paul  went  westward  he  must  soon  have  been  brought 
into  contact  with  those  who,  strangers  to  all  the  refinements  of 
fife,  were  groping  on  in  an  intellectual  darkness.     With  some  of 


*  Acts,  xxviii  2. 

f  Thus  Ovid,  among  the  Getes,  says  in  Trist  v.  10 :  "Here  I  am  a 
barbarian,  for  no  one  understands  me." 

Barbarus  hie  ego  sum,  quia  non  inteUigor  ulli. 


BAKBAEISM.  l/lJ  N  I  Vj^gR  "^^ 

^^Tr  — 


the  other  Apostles,  it  was  doubtless  at  a  much  earl 
When  "they  that  were  scattered  abroad  went  everywhere 
preaching  the  word,"*  we  learn  from  history  and  tradition  that 
some  devoted  themselves  to  the  unlettered  heathen  ;  and  prob- 
ably long  before  St.  Paul  met  with  the  rude  Pagans  of  West- 
em  Europe,  prayers  had  been  offered  to  Christ  in  many  an 
Eastern  tongue  which  would  have  sounded  strange  to  the 
dwellers  in  Greece  and  Italy.  We  have  opened  therefore 
before  us  the  history  of  the  Apostohc  missions,  but  shall  en- 
deavor to  confine  our  view  to  those  nations  who  were  not  be- 
lievers in  the  Hellenic  mythology,  as  this  will  be  considered  in 
the  succeeding  chapter.  It  is  difficult  indeed  to  tell  what  in 
that  day  constituted  a  want  of  civilization,  yet  the  most  natural 
division  seems  to  be,  to  include  in  the  present  discussion  all 
those  who  lived  beyond  the  reach  of  that  science  and  literature 
which  shed  its  beams  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Classical  Paganism — whatever  may  be  said  of  its  moral  ten- 
dency— certainly  had  an  elevating  and  civilizing  influence  on 
those  who  received  it. 

We  will  look  then  at  Christianity  in  conflict  with  Bar- 
barism— an  antagonist  with  whom  there  was  no  common 
ground  on  which  they  could  meet,  except  those  instinctive 
longings  after  spiritual  life  which  are  implanted  in  the  heart  of 
every  one.  With  the  other  enemies  of  the  faith  it  was  far  dif- 
ferent.   With  Judaism  it  was  only  an  appeal  to  the  reason — ^un- 

*  Acts,  viii.  4. 


190  BARBARISM. 

rolling  the  prophecies  of  the  past,  and  proving  that  Jesus  was 
indeed  the  Christ.  With  the  Greek,  the  Apostle  had  but  to 
reveal  to  him  the  fact,  that  "  the  unknown  God"  whom  he 
ignorantly  worshipped,  had  come  to  tabernacle  among  men 
and  receive  their  homage.  And  even  the  dissolute  Corinthian 
could  be  roused  by  the  inspiring  motives  of  another  life,  and 
learn  the  lesson  that  he  must  trample  on  the  present,  would  he 
win  the  glorious  rewards  of  the  future.  But  with  a  barbarous 
tribe  it  was  otherwise ;  and  even  at  this  day  we  can  see  how 
difficult  it  is  for  the  Gospel  to  win  its  way,  or  even  effect  a 
foothold  among  those  whose  minds,  through  countless  genera- 
tions, had  been  neglected  and  waste.  There  seems,  at  first, 
nothing  to  which  the  teachers  of  the  faith  can  appeal.  The 
reason,  never  before  tasked  to  decide  such  momentous  ques- 
tions, cannot  bring  itself  to  the  point  to  grasp  the  matter  at 
issue,  or  to  understand  the  course  of  conduct  implied  in  yield- 
ing to  it.  The  missionary,  indeed,  is  obliged  to  awaken  from  its 
dormant  state — to  quicken  into  life — nay,  almost  to  create,  the 
intellect  on  which  afterwards  he  is  to  act.  .  He  feels  often, 
therefore,  as  if  he  were  addressing  mindless,  soulless  beings, 
when  he  beholds  them  turn  with  the  most  chilling  apathy  from 
truths  which  would  have  at  once  arrested  the  attention  of  the 
cultivated,  even  if  they  had  produced  no  abiding  moral  influ- 
ence. These  endless,  fruitless  efforts  are  worse  to  the  soul  than 
martyrdom.  They  realize  the  fable  of  the  stone  of  Sisyphus, 
and  there  is  danger  lest,  from  utter  weariness,  the  zeal  should 
oe  quenched,  and  the  flame  perish  on  the  altar.     The  Jew 


BAEBAEISM.  191 

might  revile  the  doctrines  of  our  faith,  but  still  he  understood 
them — the  astute  Grecian,  with  his  keen  perception  and  prac- 
tical atheism,  had  no  difficulty  in  grasping  the  idea  of  a  spir- 
itual being,  though  he  might  ridicule  the  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection from  the  dead — and  the  believer  everywhere  in  that  old 
mythology  could  recognise  the  difference  between  his  own  sys- 
tem and  the  purer  faith  proposed  to  him,  and  weigh  their 
respective  merits.  But  the  degraded  barbarian,  with  whom 
the  physical  was  every  thing,  the  intellectual  and  the  spiritual 
nothing,  had  not  yet  in  his  character  the  elements  to  enable 
him  to  comprehend  the  subhme  yet  often  abstract  truths  on 
which  our  faith  is  founded.  It  required,  therefore,  the  fervent 
zeal  of  Apostolical  days — "  a  love  which  many  waters  cannot 
quench,  nor  floods  drown" — to  sustain  the  laborer  in  his  wear- 
ing toils.  And  when  the  devotion  of  the  Church  began  to 
wax  cold,  it  turned  disheartened  from  this  field,  and  less  has 
been  done  in  the  last  fifteen  centuries  than  was  effected  in  the 
three  which  preceded  them.  The  scattered  missionaries  toil 
on,  year  after  year,  and  a  few  only  are  turned  to  the  way  of 
hfe.  We  never  hear,  as  in  the  olden  time,  of  "  a  nation  bom 
in  a  day."  The  degraded  state  of  hfe  of  those  to  whom  they 
minister — the  absence  of  all  intellect  on  which  the  truth  can 
take  hold — which  now  forms  the  barrier  in  their  way,  was  from 
the  beginning  the  great  difficulty  in  impressing  spiritual  truths 
upon  the  heathen. 

There  is  something  to  the  missionary  worse  than  the  fire  or 
the  stake ;  and  the  mind  which,  with  heroic  joy  could  gather 


192  BARBAEISM. 

up  its  energies  to  meet  death  in  all  its  terrors,  sinks  disheart- 
ened in  the  contest  with  brutal  ignorance,  and  obduracy,  and 
"a  darkness  which  can  be  felt."  There  is  a  recoil  of  the 
spirit  which  is  fatal  to  its  energies.  Tlie  laborer  fears  that  he 
has  not  counted  the  cost  of  his  way,  and  while  he  was  pre- 
pared for  danger  and  hardship,  he  was  not  for  miseries  which 
more  than  either  waste  the  heart.  To  speak  to  the  dark  and 
shrouded  spirit  of  the  savage,  and  attempt  to  awaken  it  to  the 
lofty  hopes  of  immortality — to  spend  hour  after  hour  striving 
to  infuse  ideas  into  the  heavy  brain  of  one  who  never  before 
attempted  to  reason — to  weave  the  thoughts  into  the  humblest, 
simplest  words  of  which  speech  is  capable — and  then  be  met 
by  a  vacant  look  which  shows  that  all  within  is  **  without  form 
and  void ;"  or  else,  to  have  the  listener  turn  away  with  cold 
and  derisive  words — oh,  this  is  a  martyrdom  of  the  spirit 
worse  than  any  that  can  befall  the  body  !  And  yet  these  were 
the  trials  which  in  that  early  day  the  heralds  of  the  Cross  had 
to  expect  when  they  went  forth  to  inherit  the  earth. 

Such,  then,  was  the  forbidding  aspect  of  this  portion  of  the 
missionary  field.  The  laborers  were  to  plunge  at  once  into  the 
thick  shadows  of  an  intellectual  and  moral  darkness.  Tliey  were 
to  enter  lands  where  "the  sweet  charities"  which  bind  man 
to  man  were  unrecognised,  "  not  knowing  the  things  that  should 
befall  them  there,"  save  that  in  every  place  they  expected 
bonds  and  afflictions  to  be  their  portion.  They  were  to  work 
a  revolution  in  which  **  old  things  were  to  pass  away" — old 
customs,  and  delusions,  and  habits  of  thought — the  cherished 


BARBAEISM.  193 


feelings  on  which  most  the  memory  dwells — while  "  all  things 
were  to  become  new" — tlie  joys  and  affections  of  this  life,  and 
the  hopes  which  stretch  onward  to  the  next.  Yet  the  Apos- 
tles shrank  not  from  the  task.  They  turned  not  away  from  the 
bitterness  of  the  cup  offered  to  their  taste,  nor  fainted  at  the 
sight  of  the  fearful  shadows  which  fell  upon  their  path.  Solemn, 
indeed,  was  the  scene,  and  one  calculated  to  awaken  an  indiffer- 
ent world,  when  they  went  out  from  their  kindred  and  people, 
henceforth  belonging  to  no  earthly  land,  but  seeking  a  heav- 
enly. To  them  "  the  field  was  the  world,"  and  they  acted  in 
the  spirit  of  St.  Paul  when  he  declared  himself  "  a  debtor  to 
the  barbarian"  as  well  as  "  to  the  Greek" — when  he  felt  that 
"  a  necessity  was  laid  upon  him"  to  preach  the  Gospel  where- 
ever  man  was  found  ;  yea,  that  a  wo  was  recorded  against  him 
if  he  made  not  full  proof  of  his  ministry. 

In  this  contest  he  led  the  way.  The  same  spirit  which  in- 
duced him  to  declare — "  I  am  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,"* — 
forced  him  to  realize  that  he  was  to  proclaim  the  truth,  not 
only  amid  the  learning  of  Athens  and  the  splendor  of  Rome, 
but  to  those  also  who  were  stigmatized  as  barbarians.  And 
for  this  conflict  with  heathenism  of  every  form,  his  previous  life 
seems  to  have  well  prepared  him.  Bom  in  a  city  of  Asia  Mi- 
nor, and  trained  in  Grecian  learning,  he  was  probably  free  from 
many  of  the  narrow  prejudices  of  his  countrymen  in  Palestine, 
while  his  education  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel  had  prevented  his 


*  Rom.  XL  18. 


194  BARBARISM. 


faith  in  Judaism  being  weakened  by  this  early  culture  of  for- 
eign philosophy  and  poetry.  Unlike,  therefore,  the  Jews  in 
general,  he  was  familiar  with  much  which  was  beyond  their 
pale,  and  standing  on  the  confines  of  both  regions,  he  was  ad- 
mirably qualified  to  preach  to  the  heathen  a  system  which  was 
to  unite  all  men  of  every  clime  in  one  broad  and  comprehensive 
faith.  He  felt  that  his  business  was  to  "  plant"*  the  Gospel, 
while  he  left  to  others  the  duty  of  cherishing  the  tender  tree, 
and  at  last  reaping  the  fruit.  "  I  have  strived,"  he  writes  to 
the  Romans,  "  to  preach  the  Gospel,  not  where  Christ  was 
named,  lest  I  should  build  upon  another  man's  foundation."! 
And  he  tells  the  Corinthians,  that  it  is  his  wish,  "  to  preach 
the  Gospel  in  the  regions  beyond  you,  and  not  to  boast  in  an- 
other man's  line  of  things  made  ready  to  our  hand."|  He  did 
not,  therefore,  confine  his  efiforts  to  the  circle  of  intellectual 
light  which  surrounded  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean,  but 
passed  Westward  into  regions  known  only  to  the  East  as  the 
residence  of  tribes  of  savage  lives  and  names.  Spain  heard  his 
voice,  §  and  then  he  went  Northward  to  those  inclement  shores 
which  the  lordly  Roman  "  shivered  when  he  named."  The 
testimony  of  tradition  indeed  declares,  that  he  preached  the 
Gospel  in  that  far-off  barbarous  isle,  from  which  our  own 
Church   came,  and  therefore  TertuUian   wrote — "  There  are 


*  1  Cor.  iiL  6.  f  Ram.  xv.  20. 

X  2  Cor.  X.  16.  §  Rrni.  xv.  24. 


BARBAKISM.  195 

places  in  Britain  inaccessible  to  Roman  arms,  which  were  sub- 
dued to  Christ."* 

His  labors  ceased  not  till  the  hour  of  martyrdom  came,  and  he 
stood  without  the  walls  of  Rome,  surrounded  by  thousands  who 
had  gathered  there  to  see  a  Christian  die.  But  how  beautiful 
is  it  to  trace  this  solitary  herald  of  the  Cross  on  his  way,  urg- 
ing forward  the  chariot-wheels  of  the  Gospel,  and  crushing 
beneath  them  the  altars  of  heathenism  !  "  Hell  from  beneath 
is  moved  to  meet  him."  All  the  chief  ones  of  the  earth — even 
the  king  upon  his  throne  and  the  priest  in  the  temple — are 
stirred  up  at  his  coming.  They  narrowly  look  upon  him,  and 
consider  him  as  the  man  that  made  the  earth  to  tremble,  and 
did  shake  kingdoms.f     But  hght  and  immortality  attend  his 


*  Adv.  Jvd.  c.  7.  The  fact  of  St.  Paul  preaching  the  Gospel  in  Britain 
depends  upon  the  unvarying  tradition  of  the  early  Church.  Clemena 
Romanus  and  Jeiome  speak  of  his  travelling  " to  the  utmost  bounds  of 
the  West" — of  his  "  preaching  as  far  as  the  extremity  of  the  earth" — and 
"  preaching  the  Gospel  in  the  Western  parts" — expressions  which  Stilling- 
fleet  has  fully  shown,  from  other  writers,  were  always  used  in  tliat  age 
with  reference  to  the  British  isles.  He  has  classified  all  the  evidence  on 
this  subject.  Orig.  Brit.  p.  39.  A  single  sentence  in  -Theodoret  shows 
the  behef  in  his  day : — "  Our  fishermen  and  pubHcans,  and  he  who  was  a 
tent-maker,  carried  the  EvangeUcal  precepts  to  all  nations ;  not  only  to 
those  who  Uved  imder  Roman  jurisdiction,  but  also  to  the  Scythians  and 
the  Hunns ;  besides  to  the  Indians,  Britains,  and  Germans."  Serm.  IX. 
de  legihus,  tom.  iv.  p.  619.  The  learned  Camden,  therefore,  thus  states 
his  conclusions  : — "  From  these  authorities  it  follows,  not  only  that  the 
Gospel  was  preached  in  Britain  in  the  times  of  the  Apostles,  but  that  St. 
Paul  himself  was  the  preacher  of  it." — Britannia,  Intro,  p.  86. 

f  Isaiah,  xiv.  9,  16. 


196  BARBARISM. 


steps.  The  desolate  stretch  out  their  hands  unto  God.  His 
voice,  pointing  the  way  to  eternal  glory,  first  breaks  in  upon 
their  cheerlessness,  and  chases  away  their  fears.  Through  all 
his  troubles — ^in  dangers  on  the  land  and  on  the  deep — in 
weariness  and  painfulness — "  in  perils  by  the  heathen" — his 
love  for  others  sustains  him.  To  him  it  is  power — resistless 
power. 

And  so  it  was  when  long  years  had  passed,  and  he  writes 
himself  "Paul  the  aged."  The  step  may  have  been  more 
slow,  yet  the  spirit  was  ever  renewing  its  strength — nay,  add- 
ing to  its  freshness  and  glory  as  it  drew  nigh  the  goal.  We 
may  imagine  him,  therefore,  when  the  evening  of  his  days  had 
come,  and  in  the  dungeon  of  Rome  he  felt  that  "  the  time  of 
his  departure  was  at  hand."  With  the  vigor  of  his  mind  un- 
broken, and  the  lofty  devotion  of  his  heart  unquenched — when 
the  shadows  of  this  world  were  fading  away,  and  the  realities 
of  the  next  unfolding  to  his  sight — how  must  his  thoughts  have 
travelled  back  over  the  path  of  life's  many  years  !  And  how 
intensely  solemn  must  have  been  the  memories  of  the  aged 
man !  All  the  scenes  of  his  checkered  career — the  days  of 
toil  and  nights  of  prayer — the  fearful  struggles  and  the  glo- 
rious triumphs — rose  from  their  graves  in  the  past,  and  gathered 
around  his  parting  soul.  His  lofty  purposes — his  ceaseless  la- 
bors, protracted  even  when  the  shadows  were  lengthening  in 
his  path — ^were  now  to  be  estimated  in  the  light  of  that  eterni- 
ty before  which  the  dream  of  life  was  fast  fading,  until  perhaps 
his  spirit  trembled,  and  would  have  failed  within  him,  but  for 


BAEBARISM.  197 


that  mercy  which  had  ever  been  its  refuge.  But  what  trium- 
phant visions  rose  before  him  !  What  forms  of  glory  and  con- 
solation flitted  before  his  eyes  !  The  revelation  on  the  road  to 
Damascus — "  the  unspeakable  words"  which  long  years  had 
not  worn  from  his  memory — the  strife  in  the  Jewish  syna- 
gogues— the  conflicts  with  the  subtle  philosophers  of  Athens — 
the  splendors  of  the  Imperial  City,  when  first  as  a  prisoner 
there  he  preached  the  Gospel — his  labors  among  the  wild 
tribes  of  the  West — these  in  succession  swept  before  him,  as 
the  imagination  created  them  afresh.  The  dead,  too,  lived 
again.  His  fellow  Apostles,  men  who  had  known  their  Lord 
in  the  flesh — the  companions  of  his  toilsome  wanderings — the 
countless  souls  who  had  been  given  him  for  his  hire — the  mar- 
tyrs whom  he  had  first  pointed  to  Heaven,  and  who  had  been 
faithful  unto  death — all  these  seemed  to  speak  to  him  from  the 
Paradise  of  God,  and  to  be  ready  to  receive  him  as  the  gates 
opened  to  his  spirit.  The  aged  Apostle  felt  that  all  in 
the  long  record  had  been  mercy — that  he  was  now  "  ready  to 
be  offiered" — and,  anticipating  the  hour  of  his  departure,  his 
exclamation  might  be — "  Why  is  His  chariot  so  long  in  com- 
ing ?  why  tarry  the  wheels  of  His  chariot  ?" 

In  this  Apostleship,  too,  St.  Peter  shared ;  and  though  his 
chief  labor  was  among  the  Jews,  yet  when  he  wandered  to 
the  distant  East,  and  planted  there  the  Gospel,  "  the  word  of 
the  Lord"    must  have  "  sounded  out"*  among  the  crowded 


1  Thes.  L  8. 
11* 


198  BAEBAEISM. 


myriads  around  tliem.  In  his  "  Epistle  to  the  strangers  scat- 
tered throughout"  the  neighboring  regions,  he  dates  from 
Babylon,  and  sends  to  them,  as  brethren,  the  greetings  of  that 
Church.*     As  we  have  mentioned,   in  a  previous    chapter. 


*  1  Pet.  V.  18. — "We  have  no  room  here  to  enter  into  the  disputed 
question,  whether  by  this  the  Apostle  means  Babylon  in  Mesopotamia,  or 
the  mystical  Babylon — Rome.  We  believe  that  nothing  but  the  warmth 
of  controversy  could  have  induced  men  to  advocate  the  latter  opinion. 
The  Romanists  were  willing  to  identify  Babylon  with  Rome,  because  it 
established  the  point  of  the  Apostle's  residence  in  the  Imperial  City. 
The  Protestants  also  concurred  in  tliis  view,  because  it  gave  them  a  new 
argument  to  prove  that  Rome  was  the  mystical  Babylon  of  the  Apoc- 
alypse. Between  these  two  parties,  therefore,  the  opinion  has  been 
widely  advocated. 

We  confess  we  have  never  been  able  to  take  tliis  view.  We  do  not 
see  any  thing  in  the  context  to  show  that  the  Apostle  was  speaking 
figuratively ;  while  nothing  can  be  more  natural  than  that  he  "  to  whom 
was  committed  the  Gospel  of  the  Circumcision,"  {Gal.  ii.  1.)  should  visit 
the  great  colony  on  the  Euphrates.  Nowhere  else,  out  of  Palestine, 
could  he  find  his  countrymen  in  such  numbers.  Philo,  in  his  invective 
against  Caligula,  refers  to  the  multitude  of  Jews  in  Babylonia.  After 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  the  Resch  Glutha,  or  Prince  of  the  Cap- 
tivity, held  there  his  court  with  much  splendor ;  and  the  insurrection,  in 
the  time  of  Hadrian,  was  excited  by  the  idea  of  a  simultaneous  rising  in 
Mesopotamia.  We  beheve  that  the  earhest  writer  in  defence  of  a  figu- 
rative Babylon  is  Papias,  in  the  2d  century,  who  is  characterized  by  Euse- 
bius  as  being  "  very  limited  in  his  comprehension,  as  is  evident  from  his 
discourses" — beheving  and  reporting  things  on  common  tradition,  even 
things  that  were  nvQix^rtpa,  more  hkely  to  be  fables  than  truths — intro- 
ducing fabulous  stories  into  the  Church,  which  many  writers  after  him 
adopted.  {Eccles.  Hist.  Mb.  iil  ch.  39.)  Bloomfield  {Greek  Test,  in  loco) 
argues  in  defence  of  the  real  Babylon,  as  do  Lightfoot,  Scahger,  Beauso- 
bre,  Bp.  Conybeare,  Benson,  <fec.    The  reader  will  find  the  best  statement 


BARBAEISM.  199 


many  of  the  Jews  did  not  return  from  the  Captivity  with  the 
successive  remigrations  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah,  and  their 
descendants,  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates,  formed  the  most 
powerful  foreign  colony  of  the  Hebrews.  The  newly  trans- 
planted captives  must  indeed,  at  first,  have  mourned  for  the 
sunny  chfFs  and  rich  pastures  of  their  own  land,  where  the 
olive  and  the  vine  grew  spontaneously,  and  the  secluded  val- 
leys always  afforded  them  shelter  from  the  noontide  heat.  On 
the  wide  plains  of  Babylon  there  was  nothing  to  recall  to  them 
a  familiar  association;  and  we  wonder  not,  therefore,  that 
"  they  sat  down  and  wept  when  they  remembered  Zion" — that 
they  "  hanged  their  harps  upon  the  willows,"  and  professed 
their  inability  to  "  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land." 
But  the  next  generation  had  no  such  memories  to  recall  them 
from  the  East.  It  was  a  "glorious  clime"  in  which  they 
lived — those  scenes  were  endeared  to  them  as  then*  early 
home — and  when  the  permission  came  to  return  to  Palestine, 
there  were  many  who  felt  no  wish  to  undertake  the  long  and 
toilsome  journey,  to  inherit  a  desolate  and  wasted  land,  and 
build  up  again  a  ruined  city.  And  thus  centuries  went  by, 
and  the  colony  grew  and  flomished ;  yet  still  these  volimtary 
exiles  preserved  their  attachment  to  the  ancient  faith,  and  once, 
at  least,  during  life,  they  made  their  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem 


of  tliis  argument  in  Michaelis,  {Intro,  to  N.  Test.  ch.  xxvii  §  45.)  The 
opposite  side  is  most  ftilly  stated  by  Lardner,  {Hist,  of  Apost.  and  Evang. 
ch.  xix.  §  3.)  We  do  not  see  how  the  former  view  conflicts  with  the 
Apostle's  visit  to  Rome,  which  might  have  been  subsequent. 


200  BAEBAEISM. 


to  attend  its  holy  Festivals.  Thither,  therefore,  came  St. 
Peter,  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  mission  to  his  own  countrymen 
scattered  abroad  through  all  lands,  and  we  know  not  a  more 
striking  picture  than  that  which  represents  him  in  this  scene  of 
the  ancient  captivity.  He  stood  amid  the  ruined  Halls  of 
the  Scriptural  Beltshazzar,  and  the  gorgeous  palaces,  where 
once  a  hundred  Satraps  bowed  their  jewelled  necks  before  the 
throne  of  Nebuchadnezzar.  Yet  Isaiah  and  Jeremiah,  in  pro- 
phetic words,  had  described  "the  beauty  of  the  Chaldees' 
excellency"  as  prostrate  in  the  dust — the  ceasing  of  the  op- 
pressor— the  ruin  of  the  Golden  City ;  and  these  strains, 
uttered  in  the  glory  of  its  brightest  days,  had  now  received 
their  terrible  fulfilment.  Time,  in  its  solemn  march,  had 
changed  these  visions  into  the  records  of  history.  The  Apostle 
saw  before  him  a  blighted  city,  retaining  only  the  shadow  of 
its  former  glory,  while  the  mighty  plain  which  stretched 
around  it  was  covered  with  the  scattered  wrecks  of  empires — 
its  lonely  wastes  "  mounded  with  the  dust  of  three-and- 
twenty  centuries."  Yet  this  dreary  desolation  was  a  witness 
to  the  truth  of  those  Hebrew  seers  who  had  gone  before  him, 
and  must  have  strengthened  his  own  faith  in  "  the  sure  word 
of  prophecy." 

Here,  too,  Daniel  had  wept  and  prayed,  alternately  a  pris- 
oner and  a  prince ;  and,  "  among  the  captives  by  the  river  of 
Chebar,"  Ezekiel  had  dwelt,  when  "  the  heavens  were  opened 
and  he  saw  visions  of  God."  Mighty,  indeed,  were  the  revela- 
tions of  the  shadowy  future  which  they  received — revelations 


BARBARISM.  201 


of  fearful  desolation,  when  the  record  of  coming  events  was 
spread  out  before  them,  and  they  beheld  "written  therein 
lamentation,  and  mourning,  and  wo."*  The  rise  and  fall  of 
empires — the  fate  of  imperial  dynasties,  and  wide -spread 
pionarchies — the  approaching  destiny  of  the  mightiest  of  the 
earth — all  swept  before  their  eyes  in  solemn  pageantry.  And 
now,  every  thing  had  been  fulfilled,  and  in  those  "  latter  days" 
there  stood  in  their  place  another  prophet,  whose 

**  Spirit  had  strength  to  sweep 
Adown  the  gulf  of  time." 

But  even  more  glorious  than  those  given  of  old,  were  the 
visions  granted  to  St.  Peter.  Not  the  wreck  of  empires,  but 
of  worlds,  is  disclosed  to  his  eyes,  and  as  he  speaks  of  the 
time  when  "  all  these  things  shall  be  dissolved,"  he  draws  a 
picture  whose  awful  sublimity  has  never  been  equalled. 

To  the  same  portion  of  the  vineyard  came  St.  Thomas.  Not 
only  the  Medes  and  Persians,  but  the  warlike  Parthians  and 
the  rude  Bactrians,  heard  from  him  the  Gospel ;  and  so  he  wan- 
dered on,  until  he  came  to  "  India's  coral  strand" — those  shores 
too  distant  even  to  have  seen  the  eagles  of  Imperial  Rome. 
An  early  writer  tells  us,  that  at  first  he  shrank  from  those 
lands  on  account  of  the  rudeness  of  their  people,  till  a  vision  bade 
him  go  on,  for  it  was  his  Lord's  work.f     And  success  crowned 


*  Ezek.  iL  10. 

f  Niceph.  Hist  Eccles.  1.  ii.  c.  40. 


202  BARBARISM. 


his  efforts.     Many  hearts  bowed  before  the  Cross,  and  soon 
there  rose  "hymns  to  Christ  as  God,"* 

"  From  many  an  ancient  river, 
And  many  a  pahny  plain." 

Thus  he  planted  the  faith,  leaving  the  lasting  tokens  of  his 
labors  to  preserve  entwined  through  coming  ages  his  Master's 
name  and  his  own.  And  the  later  history  of  the  Church  he 
founded  comes  to  us  like  a  voice  from  the  Apostolic  days.  For 
ages  they  lived  on,  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  Christian  world, 
and  utterly  unknown.  At  length,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  the 
Portuguese  visited  the  coast  of  Malabar,  and  found,  to  their 
surprise,  a  Christian  nation  with  more  than  a  hundred  churches. 
The  tradition  among  them  was,  that  their  forefathers  had  re- 
ceived the  faith  from  St.  Thomas,  and  they  therefore  still  called 
themselves  by  his  name.  They  had  always  maintained  the 
order  and  discipline  of  Episcopal  jurisdiction,  and  for  thirteen 
hundred  years  had  enjoyed  a  succession  of  Bishops,  appointed 
by  the  Patriarch  of  Antioch.  "We,"  said  they,  "are  of  the 
true  faith,  whatever  you  from  the  West  may  be ;  for  we  come 
from  the  place  where  the  followers  of  Christ  were  first  called 
Christians." 

But  when  the  Portuguese  became  acquainted  with  the  puri- 
ty and  simplicity  of  their  worship,  they  were  offended.    "  These 


*  "  They  were  accustomed,  on  a  stated  day,  to  meet  before  daylight, 
and  to  repeat  among  themselves  a  hymn  to  Christ  as  to  a  God." — Pliny' & 
Letter  to  Trajan,  describing  the  Early  Ohrif^tians. 


BAKBAELSM.  203 

churches,"  said  they,  "  belong  to  the  Pope."  "  Who  is  the 
Pope  ?"  repUed  the  natives.  "We  never  heard  of  him."  They 
refused  to  subscribe  to  the  tenets  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  or  to 
exchange  for  her  form  of  service  the  pure  Liturgy  they  had 
inherited.  The  Inquisition  was  therefore  estabhshed  at  Goa, 
persecution  invaded  these  tranquil  churches,  and  some  of  their 
clergy  were  seized  and  devoted  to  death  as  heretics.  At  a 
Synod,  over  which  the  Roman  Archbishop  Menezes  presided, 
they  were  accused  of  the  following  practices  and  opinions  : — 
"  That  they  had  married  wives ;  that  they  owned  but  two 
Sacraments,  Baptism  and  the  Lord's  Supper ;  that  they  neither 
invoked  Saints,  nor  worshipped  Images,  nor  beheved  in  Pur- 
gatory ;  and  that  they  had  no  other  orders  or  names  of  dignity 
in  the  Church,  than  Bishop,  Priest,  and  Deacon."  All  these 
heretical  opinions  they  were  required  to  abjure.  The  churches 
on  the  seacoast  were  thus  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  su- 
premacy of  the  Pope,  but  they  refused  to  pray  in  Latin,  and 
insisted  on  retaining  their  own  language  and  Liturgy.  "  This 
point,"  they  said,  "  they  would  only  give  up  with  their  lives." 
The  Pope,  therefore,  compromised  with  them :  Menezes  pm-ged 
their  Liturgy,  and  they  retain  their  Syriac  language,  and  have 
a  Syriac  college  to  this  day.  These  are  called  the  Syro-Roman 
Churches,  and  are  principally  situated  on  the  seacoast. 

The  churches  in  the  interior,  however,  would  not  yield  to 
Rome.  They  hid  their  books — proclauned  eternal  war  against 
the  Inquisition — and  fled  to  the  mountains,  where  they  sought 
the  protection  of  the  native  Princes,  who  had  always  been 


204    '  BARBARISM. 


proud  of  their  alliance.  Thus  two  centuries  more  passed  by, 
during  which  time  no  information  was  received  of  these 
Christians  in  the  interior,  until  the  very  fact  of  their  existence 
began  to  be  doubted.  At  length,  in  1806,  they  were  again 
discovered  by  Dr.  Buchanan,  in  his  missionary  travels.  He 
found  them,  as  they  were  described  by  the  Portuguese,  pre- 
serving their  purity  and  faith  in  the  seclusion  of  the  wilderness. 
Then-  Episcopal  ministry  was  still  unbroken* — their  discipline 
was  orderly — and  their  Liturgy  pure  from  any  corruptions.  It 
was,  too,  a  wide-spread  Church.  "  I  have  now  ascertained," 
Tvrites  Buchanan,  "that  there  are  upwards  of  two  hundred 
thousand  Christians  in  the  south  of  India,  besides  the  Syrians 
who  speak  the  Malabar  language."f  Such  are  "  the  Christians 
of  St.  Thomas,"  and  thus  deeply  did  he  plant  the  faith  among 
those  crowded  millions.  To  this  day  it  exists,  and  they  who 
claim  him  as  their  spiritual  father,  still  preserve  traditions  of 


*  "  This  is  the  residence  of  Mar  Dionysius,  the  Metropolitan  of  the 
Syrian  Church.  A  great  number  of  the  Priests  from  the  other  churches 
had  assembled  by  desire  of  the  Bishop,  before  my  arrival.  The  Bishop 
resides  in  a  bmlding  attached  to  the  Church.  I  was  much  struck  with 
his  first  appearance.  He  was  dressed  in  a  vestment  of  dark  red  silk ;  a 
large  gclien  cross  hung  from  his  neck,  and  his  venerable  beard  reached 
below  his  girdle.  Such,  thoiight  I,  was  the  appearance  of  Chrysostom  in 
the  fourth  century.  On  public  occasions,  he  wears  the  Episcopal  mitre, 
and  a  muslin  robe  is  thrown  over  his  under-garment ;  and  in  liis  hand  he 
bears  the  crosier,  or  pastoral  staE" — Buchanan's  Christian  Researches^ 
p.  80. 

f  Idem.  p.  81.  '  . 


BAEBAEISM.  205 


his  ministry,  and  point  to  the  place  of  his  martyrdom  and 
grave. 

Nathaniel  departed  to  the  Eastern  shore  of  the  Red  Sea, 
T^here  many  of  his  countrymen,  after  desolation  had  swept 
over  the  city  of  their  fathers,  took  refuge  in  the  quiet  regions 
of  Arabia  Fehx.  There,  secluded  from  the  world,  and  enjoy- 
ing all  that  nature  in  her  richest  prodigality  could  pour  around 
them,  they  might  learn  to  forget  the  sorrows  which  had  over- 
whelmed their  land.  There,  too,  those  who  had  adopted  the 
new  faith,  could  live  in  the  public  profession  of  their  creed  un- 
molested by  the  narrow  bigotry  of  their  countrymen,  who  still 
clung  to  the  ancient  covenant.  Thus  the  wild  Arabians — 
tribes  which  had  never  bowed  to  mortal  man — were  taught  by 
tliis  Apostle  to  take  upon  them  the  yoke  of  the  humble  GaH- 
lean.  And  when  a  century  later,  another  herald  of  the  Cross 
went  thither  to  proclaim  the  truth,  "  he  found,"  says  Eusebius, 
"  his  own  arrival  anticipated  by  some  who  there  were  acquaint- 
ed with  the  Gospel  of  Matthew,  to  whom  Bartholomew,*  one 
of  the  Apostles,  had  preached,  and  had  left  them  this  Gospel 
in  the  Hebrew,  which  was  also  preserved  until  this  time."t 
From  thence  he  went  into  Lycaonia,  whose  people,  St.  Chry- 
sostom  tells  us,  he  instructed  and  trained  up  in  the  Christian 


*  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  mention  to  the  reader,  that  Bartholomew 
and  Natlianiel  are  supposed  to  be  different  names  for  the  same  person. 
St.  Jolm  never  mentions  Bartholomew  in  the  nmnber  of  the  Apostles,  and 
the  other  Evangelists  never  take  notice  of  NatlianieL 

f  Eccles.  Hist  V.  10. 

18  ^ 


206  BAEBARISM. 


discipline.^  At  last,  he  travelled  on  to  Armenia  the  Greai, 
and  there  this  "  Israelite  in  whom  was  no  guile,"  closed  his 
days,  learning,  perhaps,  the  meaning  of  that  solemn  prophecy 
with  which  his  Lord  had  crowned  the  earliest  profession  of  his 
faith,  for  the  first  time  when  the  glories  of  the  eternal  world 
unfolded  to  his  view,  and  he  "  saw  the  heaven  opened,  and 
the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  descending  upon  the  Son  of 
Man." 

To  St.  Philip  was  committed  the  task  of  founding  the  Church 
among  the  Phrygians — a  duty  most  difficult  to  perform,  be- 
cause there,  through  all  the  days  of  their  Paganism,  the  reh- 
gious  emotions,  when  not  entirely  dormant,  seem  to  have  de- 
veloped themselves  into  the  wildest  excitement.  Thence  came 
forth  at  times  the  priests  of  Cybele,  wrought  up  to  a  state  ,0/ 
phrensy  by  the  working  of  what  they  considered  a  divine  influ- 
ence— troops  of  frantic  Orgiasts,  whom  the  inhabitants  of  the 
West  looked  upon  with  awe,  while  they  caught  from  them  the 
same  strange  fanaticism.  Egypt  received  the  Gospel  from  St. 
Mark.  The  north  of  Africa  claimed  St.  Simon  as  its  apostle, 
and  nowhere  does  the  new  religion  seem  to  have  taken 
deeper  root,  or  been  more  deeply  riveted  in  the  minds  of 
the  people.  The  religion  of  ancient  Carthage  had  perished 
with  the  city,  and  newly-imported  forms  of  faith  seemed  to 
have  had  but  a  feeble  hold  upon  the  inhabitants.  And  they 
had  no  sympathy  with   the  dreamy  mysticism  of  the  East  ; 


*  Cavers  Lives  of  the  Apostles,  p,  891. 


BARBARISM.  207 


every  thing   about  tliem  was  earnest  and    practical.      They 

seized  with  eagerness  on  the  grand  verities  of  Christianity — 

there  was  something  in  its  lofty  revelations  which  accorded 

well  with  those  highwrought  spirits  of  the    tropics — and  in 

every  page  they  wrote,  and  every  conflict  they  engaged  for 

their  faith,  we  seem  to  trace  the  influence  of  their  burning 

climate.     The  land,  now  so  thinly  peopled,  was  then  crowded 

with  teeming  millions,  and  thousands  of  churches  arose  where, 

in  our  day, 

"  The  Moslem's  prayers  profane 
Mom  and  eve  come  soimding." 

The  conversion  of  the  Ethiopian  eunuch  by  Philip  the  deacon, 
carried  the  influence  of  Christianity  to  the  court  of  Candace, 
queen  of  Meroe.  Tradition  tells  us,  that  her  treasurer,  return- 
ing, unfolded  to  her  riches  greater  than  those  of  this  world 
which  she  had  committed  to  his  care ;  and  then,  by  her  leave, 
he  propagated  the  faith  throughout  Ethiopia,  till  meeting  with 
St.  Matthew  the  Apostle,  by  their  joint  endeavors  idolatry  Avas 
expelled  from  that  country.*  In  this  way,  the  Gospel  was 
preached  among  those  whom  Homer  describes  as  eaxaToi  avSpw* 
— the  remotest  of  mankind.  Thus  it  was,  that  even  in  the  first 
age,  Christianity  and  Barbarism  met  in  conflict,  and  many  a 
wild  and  mysterious  land — the  very  name  of  which  the  high- 
wrought  civilization  of  that  age  refused  to  learn — had  its 
A.postle,  who  bequeathed  to  it  the  remembrance  of  his  spiritual 
triumphs  and  his  cruel  death.     Countries  where  heathenism 


*  Cave's  Lives  of  the  Fathers,  p.  8*7. 


208  BAEBARISM. 


once  was  dominant,  were  trodden  by  saintly  footsteps  and  wa- 
tered by  martyrs'  blood. 

The  earliest  laborers  in  this  mighty  vineyard,  one  by  one 
passed  away  to  their  reward,  many  of  them  receiving,  at  the 
fire  and  the  stake,  a  quick  release  to  the  Paradise  of  God.  It 
is  said  that  the  second  generation  of  missionaries  is  rarely  equal 
to  the  first — to  those  who,  desolate  of  all  human  aid,  go  forth 
into  the  wilderness,  and  sow  in  tears  the  harvest  which  others 
came  after  them  to  reap.  Yet  this  was  not  the  case  in  the 
earliest  ages  of  our  faith.  The  successors  of  the  Apostles 
evidently  shared  in  their  spirit,  and  in  all  the  lofty  traits  of 
Christian  character,  Ignatius  and  Polycarp  were  worthy  of 
those  at  whose  feet  they  had  sat.  Each  individual  felt  that  he 
was  an  athlete  of  Christ,  and  gathered  around  the  Cross  every 
hope,  and  joy,  and  affection  of  his  soul.  They  went  forth  like 
men  who  had  ceased  to  have  any  sympathy  with  the  fears  and 
passions  of  life — who  trampled  beneath  their  feet  all  to  which 
the  carnal  heart  most  cleaves — and  the  corrupt  impulses  of 
whose  nature  were  scourged  with  a  rod  of  iron,  or  quenched 
in  their  tears.  And  thus  they  fed  their  souls  with  the  deep 
impulses  of  enthusiasm,  until  there  was  to  them  a  sublime  ro- 
mance in  battling  with  the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  rescuing  the 
nations  which  were  sitting  under  his  dark  control.  They  loved 
the  conflict  and  the  blood-bought  triumph  more  than  '*  the 
still  waters  and  the  green  pastures."  The  earth  was  to  them 
but  a  theatre  on  which  were  to  be  wrought  out  their  spiritual 
triumphs.     As  they  wandered  over  plains  and  forests,  they 


BAKBAEISM.  209 


felt  that  these  were  to  be  but  provinces  of  their  empire,  and 
this  thought  took  away  the  sense  of  weariness,  and  added  fire 
to  their  zeal.  , 

And  thus  a  century  more  went  by,  and  even  in  distant  lands, 
where  the  Apostles  had  left  Christianity  struggling  for  exist- 
ence, it  was  now  dominant  and  fearless.  We  see  this  in  the 
glowing  splendor  of  Tertulhan's  writings,  when  on  the  distant 
shores  of  Africa  he  sent  forth  his  defence  of  the  faith.  The 
very  contrast  of  its  tone  with  the  persuasive  and  deprecatory 
appeal  of  Justin  Martyr,  shows  the  change  which  must  have 
taken  place  in  the  public  mind.  The  day  for  apologizing  had 
passed.  Christianity  utters  no  longer  the  voice  of  humble 
supplication — she  does  not  even  plead  the  cause  of  her  unof- 
fending followers,  and  endeavor  to  screen  them  from  the  rage 
of  the  persecutor — but  every  sentence  breathes  defiance  and 
contempt  of  that  Paganism  which  a  few  years  before  was 
tramphng  her  into  the  dust.  TertuUian  hurls  against  their 
Pagan  foes  the  vengeance  of  the  Christian's  God — sternly 
warns  the  Praefect  Scapula  by  the  example  of  Roman  govern- 
ors who,  like  Herod,  had  been  smitten  at  once  in  their  pride 
and  power — and  taunts  him  with  the  futility  of  his  efforts  to 
crush  a  kingdom,  **  whose  duration  will  be  coeval  with  that  of 
the  world."*  Everywhere  it  was  aggression  in  the  confines 
of  barbarism.  The  preaching  of  Frumentius  carried  the  Gospel 
even  beyond  the  bounds  of  Ethiopia,  and  won  to  its  sway  the 


*  Terttd.  ad  ScapiUam. 
18* 


210  BAEBARISM. 


wild  tribes  of  the  Nubians  and  Blemmyes.  Gaul  bowed  to 
the  Cross.  The  dark  and  inhuman  superstition  of  the  Druids 
faded  before  its  gentle  lessons,  and  even  the  warlike  deities  of 
the  Goths  were  exchanged  for  the  rule  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
The  symbol  of  our  faith  was  hallowed  on  the  wastes  of  hea- 
thenism, and  thousands  who  lately  worshipped  idols,  now 

"  Shook  the  depths  of  the  forest's  gloom, 
With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer."* 

Of  many  of  these  victories  of  the  Cross,  no  history  has  been 
preserved  to  us.  Its  ministers,  plunging  into  the  dark,  un- 
known forests,  were  lost  to  sight  when  they  mingled  with  its 
savage  tribes,  and  as  years  went  by,  the  very  memory  of  their 
existence  faded  in  their  ancient  homes.  No  record  of  their 
trials  was  sent  to  those  they  left  behind,  for  they  labored  not 
for  the  praise  of  men  but  of  God.  They  were  alone  with  Him, 
and  none  others  saw  their  struggles,  but  the  watchers  that  are 
on  high — "  the  holy  ones"  who  look  down  upon  the  just  as 
they  **  sound  along  their  dim  and  perilous  way."  But  who 
can  tell  how  fearful  must  have  been  their  loneliness  of  soul ! 
They  whose  lives  are  hallowed  by  the  joys  of  home — whose 


*  "  There  exists  not,"  says  Justin  Martyr,  "  a  people,  whether  Greek 
or  Barharian,  or  any  otlier  race  of  men,  by  whatsoever  appellation  or  man- 
ners they  may  be  distinguished — however  ignorant  of  arts  or  agriculture, 
whether  they  dwell  under  tents,  or  wander,  about  in  covered  wagons, 
among  whom  prayers  are  not  offered  up,  in  the  name  of  a  crucified  Jesus, 
to  the  Father  and  Creator  of  all  things." — Dialog,  cum  Tryphon.  p.  341. 


BARBARISM.  211 

sorrows  are  softened  by  the  treasure  of  endearing  aflfection, 
and  over  whose  day  and  night  watch  the  love  of  kindred — 
can  never  reahze  that  sickness  of  heart  which  at  times  must 
come  upon  those  who  have  thus  cut  themselves  off  from  all 
human  sympathy.  In  these  hours  of  depression  naught  was 
left  them  but  to  pray  and  weep  till  light  once  more  broke  in 
upon  the  darkness.  But  though  they  sought  no  discharge 
from  their  labor — toihng  on  in  the  eleventh  hour  as  painfully  as 
in  the  first — we  believe  they  must  have  rejoiced  in  the  ap- 
proach of  immortality,  and  heard  with  gladness  "  the  rushing 
of  the  wings"  of  their  last  messenger.  And  there  they  died, 
forgotten  by  the  world  they  had  abandoned.  No  mother  or 
sister  sat  by  their  lowly  couch,  and  wiped  the  tear  of  anguish 
from  the  cheek,  or  the  damp  of  sickness  from  the  brow. 
Often  they  must  have  sunk  alone  in  their  last  agony,  and  the 
shriek  of  the  vulture,  as  he  waited  for  his  prey,  been  their  only 
requiem.  No  consecrated  ground  received  their  remains — 
there  were  none  to  write  their  epitaph  but  the  rude  converts 
they  had  won  from  idolatry — none  to  transmit  to  later  age^ 
the  memory  of  all  they  dared  and  suffered.  Thus,  after  a 
self-denying,  loveless  hfe,  they  died  a  lonely  and  unheeded 
death. 

But  they  had  their  reward.  Souls  had  been  given  them  for 
their  labor.  Many  a  spirit  had  been  raised  from  darkness — 
many  a  lip  breathed  forth  blessings  on  their  memory,  when 
they  were  beyond  the  reach  of  human  praise — to  many  they 
had  opened  the  gate  of  Paradise,  and  made  the  Dark  Valley 


212  BARBARISM. 


beautiful  by  the  word  they  preached.  The  faith,  therefore, 
survived  them  ;  and  when,  years  afterwards,  the  tide  of  bar- 
barous invasion  rolled  down  upon  the  Roman  Empire,  the  pol- 
ished Christian  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  found,  to  his  aston- 
ishment, that  these  wild  sons  of  the  North  believed  in  the 
same  faith  with  himself — that  tribes  of  which  he  never  heard 
had  learned  the  story  of  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God — and 
"the  yellow-haired  Goth"  and  the  fierce  Vandal  felt  no  way 
strange  as  they  worshipped  at  the  altars  of  the  Imperial 
City. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  faith  went  forth  to  inherit  the  ear^,n, 
and,  like  the  leaven,  silently  yet  surely  won  its  way.  It  was 
at  a  mighty  cost  that  the  work  was  achieved — a  cost  of  tears 
and  suffering,  and  the  blood  of  martyrdom — yet  the  price  was 
cheerfully  paid.  As  one  leader  in  "  the  sacramental  host  of 
God's  elect"  fell  in  the  contest,  another  at  once  stepped  for- 
ward to  fill  his  place,  and  take  up  the  weapons  of  his  warfare. 
All  realized  that  they  were  "  baptized  for  the  dead."  And 
the  result  was,  what  we  have  already  seen.  Everywhere  men 
became  famihar  with  the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  The 
gathered  thousands  in  the  crowded  city  thronged  his  temples, 
while  the  distant  and  scattered  barbarians — "  the  few  sheep  in 
the  wilderness" — found  there  was  a  mighty  brotherhood  ex- 
tending over  the  earth,  of  which  they  too  were  invited  to  be 
members.  In  many  a  strange  tongue  rose  the  anthem  of 
praise,  yet  its  spirit  was  the  same  through  all  its  many  voices, 
and  "  with  one  heart  they  desired  the  prosperity  of  Christ's 


BAEBARISM.  213 


Holy  Apostolic  Church,  and  with  one  mouth  professed  the 
faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints."* 

But  the  effect  of  these  triumphs  of  the  Cross  among  barba- 
rous nations  was  not  seen  in  a  single  age.  It  was  not  confined 
to  themselves,  nor  did  its  benefits  cease  with  leading  those  who 
listened  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth.  It  was  to  react  on  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  exert  a  power  to  be  felt 
through  all  ages  of  the  Christian  faith.  Not  from  the  venera- 
ble shrines  of  Egypt,  where  antique  learning  sat  enthroned — 
or  from  the  groves  of  classic  Greece,  the  home  of  philosophy — 
or  even  from  the  sacred  temple  of  Judea's  faith,  was  that 
power  to  proceed  which  was  to  control  the  future  destinies  of 
the  Christian  Church.  It  came  from  the  barbarous  North. 
When,  a  few  centuries  later,  the  Roman  Empire  was  tottering 
to  its  fall,  and  the  tide  of  armed  invasion,  to  which  we  have 
already  alluded,  swept  from  those  dark  forests  and  over- 
whelmed it  in  ruin,  we  can  see  that  these  rude  warriors  were 
the  special  messengers  of  God  to  promote  the  permanent 
purity  of  the  faith.  It  had -lost  its  influence  amid  the  general 
depravity  of  morals,  and  was  without  authority  to  correct  the 
growing  cruelty  and  licentiousness.  There  was  danger  lest 
Christianity  in  Italy  should  degenerate  into  heathenism.  The 
Pagan  power,  in  its  last  struggle,  seemed  to  have  cast  its  man- 
tle over  the  new  faivh,  and  men  had  insensibly  grafted  on  their 
practice   many  of   the   customs   of  their  heathen  ancestors. 

*  From  Prayer  in  Office  of  Institutioa 


214  BARBARISM. 


Every  association  around  spoke  to  them  of  the  past,  and  of 
ihat  poetic  faith  among  whose  ruined  fanes  they  dwelt.  It 
was  necessary,  therefore,  to  break  this  train  of  thought  and 
feeling — to  eradicate  it  from  the  Church — and  to  infuse  a  new 
and  healthier  tone  into  the  public  mind.  And  this  could  only 
be  done  by  the  advent  of  a  new  race,  unfettered  by  these  old 
associations  of  the  past — with  a  faith  whose  vitality  was  unin- 
jured by  local  heathen  customs — and  with  no  ties  to  bind  them 
to  any  thing  but  the  Living  Present.  The  communities  of 
Southern  Europe  could  never,  of  themselves,  have  worked  out 
this  reform,  or  thrown  off  the  chain  that  was  rusting  in  upon 
the  heart.  It  was  an  age  of  worn-out  and  effete  civilization, 
when  Rome  had  lost  the  vigor  of  its  youth,  or  rather,  exchanged 
it  for  the  decrepitude  which  always  marks  the  closing  years  of 
a  once  mighty  nation.  Life,  indeed,  was  refined,  yet  without 
purity  ;  and  the  arrow  only  sank  deeper  because  its  point  was 
polished.  The  early  simplicity  of  faith  was  gone,  and  society, 
incapable  of  higher  and  nobler  influences,  needed  to  be  entirely 
changed  by  new  elements  and  fresher  impulses.  While  the 
Roman  Empire  was  breaking  up  into  a  number  of  hostile  states, 
and  days  of  disaster  and  confusion  were  at  hand,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  if  religion  was  to  exist  at  all,  it  needed  a  complete 
and  vigorous  reorganization.  A  new  spirit  was  to  be  breathed 
into  the  imbecile  and  hackneyed  people  of  Italy.  And  how 
sould  this  so  effectually  be  done,  as  by  the  tribes  of  the  North, 
ijut  off,  as  they  always  had  been,  from  imbibing  the  vices  of 
the  woni-out  nations  of  Southern  Europe !     They  trampled 


BARBAEISM.  215 


the  effeminate  Romans  beneath  their  feet,  and  showed  no  sym- 
pathy with  corruptions  which  the  degenerate  Christians  they 
supplanted  had  ceased  to  regard  as  in  any  way  at  variance 
with  the  spirit  of  their  faith.  Not  without  reason,  then,  did 
Alaric  the  Visigoth  style  himself  "  the  scourge  of  God  ;"  and 
when  he  led  his  fiery  countrymen  over  the  Alps,  and  made  his 
name  a  watchword  of  terror,  he  was  fulfilling  his  mission  as 
fully  as  was  Cyrus,  when  God  sent  him  forth  against  His  ancient 
people,  and  employed  him  but  as  **  the  rod  of  His  wrath"  for 
the  Church's  sake.* 

We  perceive,  too,  from  these  considerations,  how  much  the 
preservation  of  the  faith  in  those  lands  depended  on  the  fact, 
that   the    successful   invaders   should    be    at    least   nominal 


*  "  Not  for  myself  did  I  ascend 

In  judgment  my  triumphal  car ; 
'Twas  God  alone  on  high  did  send 

The  avenging  Scythian  to  the  war, 
To  shake  abroad,  with  iron  hand, 
The  appointed  scourge  of  his  command. 

"  With  iron  hand  that  scourge  I  rear'd 
O'er  guilty  king  and  guilty  realm  ; 
Destruction  was  the  ship  I  steer' d, 

And  vengeance  sat  upon  tlie  helm. 
When  launch'd  in  fury  on  the  flood, 
1  ploughed  my  ways  through  seas  of  blood, 
And  in  the  stream  their  hearts  had  spilt, 
Wash'd  out  the  long  arrears  of  guilt." 

Dirge  of  Alaric,  hy  Hon.  Edw.  Everett. 


216  BARBARISM. 


Christians.  Had  they  been  still  attached  to  their  ancient 
heathenism,  civilization  itself  would  have  been  exchanged  for 
barbarism  and  darkness.  Christianity  would  have  been  swept 
away  before  them,  and  Italy  shared  the  fate  of  the  North  of 
Africa,  when  in  a  later  age  the  Crescent  entirely  supplanted 
the  Cross,  and  the  churches  over  which  Cyprian  and  Augustine 
once  ruled,  lived  only  on  the  page  of  history.  Thus  the  faith 
would  have  been  forced  back  into  its  ancient  home  in  the  East, 
and  the  labor  of  centuries  been  lost.  But  as  it  was,  the  Church 
began  to  reap  the  benefit  of  her  forgotten  missionaries,  who 
a  century  before  had  toiled  in  those  northern  regions.  The 
impression  the  faith  had  already  made  on  the  invading  race, 
softened  in  some  respects  the  horrors  of  their  warfare,  and 
St.  Augustine  appeals  to  the  mercy  shown  by  the  conqueror 
as  an  argument  in  favor  of  Christianity.  He  tells  his  readers, 
that  had  the  Pagan  Radagaisus  taken  the  Imperial  City,  not  a 
life  would  have  been  spared,  or  any  place  been  sacred  from 
his  violation,  while  the  Christian  Alaric  had  been  checked  and 
overawed  by  the  sanctity  of  the  Christian  character,  and  his 
respect  for  those  whom  he  was  obliged  to  recognise  as  his 
own  Christian  brethren.  St.  Augustine  therefore  taunts  his 
adversaries  with  their  inability  to  produce  a  similar  example  of 
a  city  taken  by  storm,  in  which  the  gods  of  heathenism  had 
been  able  to  protect  either  themselves  or  their  deluded  vo- 
taries.*     The  skeptical  Gibbon,  too,  is  obliged  by  the  facts 


*  Be  Civit.  Dei,  Ub.  L  ch.  1-6. 


BARBAEISM.  2lT 


which  history  had  recorded,  to  acknowledge  in  the  same  case 
the  controlling  influence  of  Christianity.  "  The  proclamation 
of  Alaric,"  he  says,  "  when  he  forced  his  entrance  into  a  van- 
quished city,  discovered,  however,  some  regard  for  the  laws  of 
humanity  and  religion.  He  encouraged  his  troops  boldly  to 
seize  the  rewards  of  valor,  and  to  enrich  themselves  with  the 
spoils  of  a  wealthy  and  effeminate  people ;  but  he  exhorted 
them,  at  the  same  time,  to  spare  the  lives  of  the  unresisting 
citizens,  and  to  respect  the  churches  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
as  holy  and  inviolable  sanctuaries.  Among  the  horrors  of  a 
nocturnal  tumult,  several  of  the  Christian  Goths  displayed  the 
fervor  of  a  recent  conversion;  and  some  instances  of  their 
uncommon  piety  and  moderation  are  related,  and  perhaps 
adorned,  by  the  zeal  of  ecclesiastical  writers.  While  the  bar- 
barians roamed  through  the  city  in  quest  of  prey,  the  humble 
dwelHng  of  an  aged  virgin,  who  had  devoted  her  life  to  the 
service  of  the  altar,  was  forced  open  by  one  of  the  powerful 
Goths.  He  immediately  demanded,  though  in  civil  language, 
all  the  gold  and  silver  in  her  possession ;  and  was  astonished 
at  the  readiness  with  which  she  conducted  him  to  a  splendid 
hoard  of  massy  plate,  of  the  richest  materials  and  the  most 
curious  workmanship.  The  barbarian  viewed  with  wonder 
and  delight  this  valuable  acquisition,  till  he  was  interrupted  by 
a  serious  admonition,  addressed  to  him  in  the  following  words : 
*  These,'  said  she,  *  are  the  consecrated  vessels  belonging  to  St. 
Peter :  if  you  presume  to  touch  them,  the  sacrilegious  deed 

will  remain  in  your  conscience.     For  my  part,  I  dare  not  keep 

19 


218  BARBARISM. 


what  I  am  unable  to  defend.'  The  Gothic  captain,  struck  with 
reverential  awe,  dispatched  a  messenger  to  inform  the  king  of 
the  treasure  which  he  had  discovered ;  and  received  a  peremp- 
tory order  from  Alaric,  that  all  the  consecrated  plate  and  orna- 
ments should  be  transported,  without  damage  or  delay,  to  the 
Church  of  the  Apostle.  From  the  extremity,  perhaps,  of  the 
Quirinal  Hill,  to  the  distant  quarter  of  the  Vatican,  a  numerous 
detachment  of  Goths,  marching  in  order  of  battle  through  the 
principal  streets,  protected  with  glittering  arms  the  long  train 
of  their  devout  companions,  who  bore  aloft  on  their  heads  the 
sacred  vessels  of  gold  and  silver ;  and  the  martial  shouts  of 
the  barbarians  were  mingled  with  the  sound  of  religious  psalm- 
ody. From  all  the  adjacent  houses,  a  crowd  of  Christians 
hastened  to  join  this  edifying  procession ;  and  a  multitude  of 
fugitives,  without  distinction  of  age  or  rank,  or  even  of  sect, 
had  the  good  fortune  to  escape  to  the  secure  and  hospitable 
sanctuary  of  the  Vatican."* 

There  was,  therefore,  some  degree  of  sympathy  between  the 
rude  barbarians  and  the  cultivated  Romans  whom  they  over- 
threw. The  clergy  of  southern  Europe  had  a  hold  upon  their 
invaders  which  enabled  the  two  nations  ultimately  to  blend 
together  into  one  people.  Religion  was  indeed  obhged  to  ac- 
commodate itself  somewhat  to  the  spirit  of  the  times,  and 
while  it  softened  in  some  degree  the  rude  martial  temper  of 
the  North,  it  underwent  itself  a  desecrating  change.     Losing 


*  Decline  and  Fall,  ch. 


BARBAEISM.  219 


something  of  its  purity,  and  certainly  much  of  its  gentleness,  it 
became  what  we  see  it  in  the  middle  ages,  splendid  and  imagi- 
native, warlike,  and  at  length  chivalrous.*  It  assumed  the 
form  which  was  afterwards  developed  into  the  wild  excitement 
of  the  Crusades.  Yet  still  it  made  a  community  of  interest 
and  a  similarity  of  feeling  between  the  master  and  the  slave. 
It  was  a  hnk,  and  the  only  one,  which  bound  together  the  con- 
querors and  the  conquered,  and  prevented  the  latter — ^like  the 
Saxons  of  England — from  being  crushed  into  a  state  of  actual 
servitude.  It  averted  the  utter  and  hopeless  prostration  of  the 
feeble  nations  they  overran.  These  had  among  them  the  order 
of  the  ministry,  whose  authority  was  acknowledged  by  the 
invaders,  and  who  extorted  their  respect  by  the  commanding 
attitude  they  assumed.  The  rude  warrior,  who  cared  for  no 
earthly  authority,  had  been  taught  to  shrink  from  ecclesiastical 
censures,  and  while  he  feared  no  temporal  power,  he  bowed  in 
reverence  before  the  Bishops  of  the  Church.  In  this  way  they 
were  enabled  to  subdue  their  conquerors,  and  cast  around  their 
mmds  those  spells  which  are  more  potent  to  enslave  than 
triple  bands  of  iron  to  the  body.  Before  a  new  tide  of  bar- 
barism rolled  over  the  land,  the  former  invaders  had  been 
partially  civilized  by  mingling  with  those  whom  they  had  dis- 
possessed, and  a  sympathy  had  grown  up  which  checked  the 
adverse  influences  brought  to  bear  upon  them,  and  saved  the 
elements  of  society  from  rushing  into  i-uinous  conflict.     They 

*  Milman's  History  of  Christianity^  v.  ii  p.  162. 


220  BARBAEISM. 


all  worshipped  the  same  God,  and  knelt  in  the  same  church, 
and  thus  by  degrees  other  differences  were  forgotten,  and 
merged  in  the  common  tie  of  Christian  brotherhood.  We 
see,  then,  how  it  was  that  the  labors  of  the  early  ministers 
of  our  faith,  when  they  toiled  among  barbarous  and  strange 
tribes,  were  destined  to  act  upon  the  heart  of  Christendom, 
long  after  they  had  gone  to  their  reward. 

Thus  the  Church  triumphed  over  barbarism,  and  won  the 
heathen  to  a  knowledge  of  the  faith.  And  one  secret  of  suc- 
cess was  the  fervent  spirit  of  those  who  were  engaged  in  this 
work.  They  renounced  every  thing  in  this  world,  in  the  hope 
of  receiving  that  eternity  which  had  been  revealed  to  them  in 
the  next.  The  evident  destiny  which  was  before  them  formed 
and  moulded  then"  characters.  It  gave  a  direction  to  their 
lives,  and  a  tone  to  their  whole  nature.  They  entangled  not 
themselves  with  the  affairs  of  this  life,  that  they  might  have 
no  impediment  in  their  warfare.  Separated  from  all  they  had 
ever  Ipved — crushing  in  their  hearts  every  reminiscence  of 
childhood,  with  its  faith  and  hopes,  its  creed  and  customs — 
their  earthly  ties  seemed  to  be  utterly  severed.*     They  passed 


*  Bede  thus  describes  their  manner  of  life  : — "  They  lived  like  Apos- 
tles ;  frequent  in  prayers,  watcliings,  and  fastings.  They  preached  the 
"Word  of  Life  to  all  who  were  ready  to  hear  it,  receiving  from  their  disci- 
ples so  much  only  as  was  necessary  for  a  bare  subsistence,  and  in  all 
things  acting  in  strict  conformity  with  their  profession  and  doctrine.  In 
truth,  they  seemed  to  put  aside  the  good  things  of  this  world,  as  property 
not  belonging  to  them.    They  bore  disappointments  and  hinderances  with 


BAEBAEISM.  221 


not  their  lives  in  cloistered  seclusion,  or  in  tlie  spiritual  delights 
of  holy  meditation,  thus  forestalling  their  heavenly  repose,  but 
in  wrestling  with  the  evil  around  them ;  and  when  at  last  they 
met  death,  it  found  them  covered  with  the  dust  and  blood  of 
battle.  They  chose  their  career,  and  identified  with  it  every 
desire,  and  hope,  and  passion ;  and  waking  or  sleeping,  had  be- 
fore them  the  same  undying  object.  Life  often  to  them  must 
have  been  but  a  lingering  death,  when  every  day  brought  fresh 
mental  or  bodily  anguish.  Yet  they  awakened  every  energy 
of  their  spirits  to  the  struggle,  rushing  forward  to  it  with  joy, 
even  when  it  led  them  to  the  grave.  Theirs  was  the  high- 
wrought  enthusiasm  which  works  changes  in  the  world,  be- 
cause, with  a  reckless  hardihood,  it  tramples  all  obstacles 
beneath  its  feet.  It  forces  itself  into  men's  hearts,  and  kindles 
the  passions,  and  thus  each  step  of  its  progress  is  urged  on  by 
a  more  potent  motive.  It  inspires  others  with  the  fervor  of  its 
own  belief,  and  wins  its  victories  by  the  contagion  of  its  own 
sincerity.  These  were  men  formed  for  conquest,  because  reso- 
lute to  suffer — men  who  were  repulsed  by  no  discouragements, 
and  disheartened  by  no  defeats — men  who  felt  themselves  in- 
spired, and  whose  very  zeal  inspired  those  whom  they  ad- 
dressed.    They  spake  with  the  burning  eloquence  of  those  to 

a  cahii  and  cheerful  spirit,  and  would  readily  have  died,  had  such  been 
God's  will,  in  defence  of  the  truth  they  preached."  And  this,  he  adds, 
was  the  result : — "  Many  believed,  and  were  baptized,  won  over  by  the 
simpHcity  of  their  blameless  lives,  and  the  sweetness  of  their  heavenly 
doctrine." — lAh,  i.  c.  26. 

19* 


222  BARBAEISM. 


whom  the  world  of  retribution  was  ever  open — who  had  looked 
upon  the  agonies  of  the  lost,  and  listened  with  mortal  ears  to 
the  glorious  anthems  of  the  blessed.  Their  very  intolerance 
furnished  them  with  the  means  of  victory.  They  felt  too  deep 
a  horror  of  every  other  creed  to  look  upon  it  with  the  least 
allowance.  Its  gods  were  demons,  and  eternal  ruin  was  the 
portion  of  its  worshippers.  Their  own  faith  held  out  the  only 
hope  of  safety,  and  all  they  loved  in  this  world  must  embrace 
it,  or  the  separation  at  death  was  one  forever.  They  had, 
therefore,  every  motive  to  widen  the  circle  of  the  faithful,  and 
to  nerve  themselves  with  sternness  for  the  perilous  task  of  en- 
countering the  bitter  opposition  of  the  Polytheist.  Each  soul 
on  which  they  poured  the  light  of  truth  was  an  immortal  be- 
ing, saved  from  the  fires  of  hell.  Each  accession  to  their  ranks 
was  a  lamb  gathered  into  the  one  true  fold — another  heir  of 
the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  And  the  heathen  were  attracted  by 
this  zeal — so  stern  and  unwavering — which,  while  it  forced 
itself  upon  them,  proclaimed  that  it  was  for  their  own  sakes 
alone — and  which,  to  win  a  proselyte,  would  scarcely  count  as 
obstacles  the  torture  and  the  stake. 

And  thus  the  early  Christians  went  forth,  with  nothing  here 
for  which  to  live,  but  the  thought  of  serving  Him  whose  her- 
alds they  were.  Everjnvhere  they  were  animated  by  the  same 
lofty  spirit,  which  neither  danger,  nor  sorrow,  nor  death  itself, 
could  quench.  On  the  most  distant  savage  shores — in  the 
midst  of  the  mighty  forests  of  the  North — in  the  dungeon  and 
the  mine — on  the  scafifold,  or  amid  the  fires  of  the  persecutor — 


BARBAEI8M.  22  B 


every  thought  of  self  was  merged  in  the  sublime  conflict  they 
were  waging,  and  the  influence  it  was  to  have  on  the  countless 
generations  who  were  to  come  after  them.  Not  pilgrims,  but 
palmers,*  they  traversed  the  remotest  comers  of  the  earth, 
proclaiming  those  solemn  truths  which  first  their  Master 
preached  among  the  hills  of  Gahlee  and  through  the  streets 
of  Jerusalem.  They  passed  through  heathen  tribes  Uke  the 
wind,  none  knowing  "  whence  they  came  or  wliither  they  were 
going,"  yet  everywhere,  like  the  wind,  sowing  the  seed  that 
was  to  enrich  the  world,  and  one  day  wave  with  an  abundant 
harvest.  They  were  a  devoted  band,  and  though  they  fell  fast, 
yet  there  was  no  pause  in  their  warfare.  Others  followed  on 
in  the  steps  of  the  slain,  and  they  pressed  on  from  wo  to  wo, 
until  it  seemed  as  if  the  price  of  sufiering  had  been  paid,  and 
then  their  career  was  one  leading  on  from  victory  to  victory. 
And  these  were  they  whom  the  Church  commemorated,  when 
at  an  early  age  it  chanted  in  the  Cathedral  at  Milan,  the  sub- 
lime anthem — "  The  noble  army  of  the  martyrs  praise  Thee." 


*  In  ancient  times  this  was  the  difference  between  a  pilgrim  and  a 
palmer.  A  pilgi-im  had  a  home  to  which  he  retmned  when  his  vow  was 
performed ;  a  palmer  had  none.  A  pilgrim  went  to  a  certain  place  in 
particular ;  a  palmer  went  to  all.  A  pilgrim  renounced  his  profession 
after  a  time  ;  a  palmer  never  did,  until  he  liad  won  the  heavenlv  pahn  of 
victory  over  the  world — Foshroke  on  Pilgrim,  ch.  vm. 


V. 
THE  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 


Among  the  solemn  ruins  of  Rome  is  one  whicli  for  nearly 
two  thousand  years,  by  its  faultless  proportions,  has  com- 
manded the  admiration  of  the  world.  The  rude  Goth  and 
Vandal  spared  it — the  scarcely  less  barbarous  Roman  of  me- 
diaeval times  held  back  his  desecrating  hand — and  we  now 
gaze  upon  it  with  perhaps  a  greater  delight  than  those  who 
saw  it  in  the  glory  of  its  early  day.  It  presents  to  the  view  a 
circular  temple,  lighted  by  a  single  opening  above,  through 
which  every  change  of  atmosphere,  from  the  first  flush  of 
mom  to  the  purple  hue  which  fills  the  air  of  an  Itahan  sky  at 
evening,  is  successively  reflected  from  the  antique  marble 
within.  We  see,  indeed,  this  rehc  of  the  past  only  when  it 
has  been  stripped  of  all  that  once  shed  a  grace  and  beauty 
about  it.  The  statues  on  which  ancient  art  had  exhausted 
its  skill — the  bronze  which  covered  the  roof — and  the  silver 
which  lined  its  compartments  within,  have  long  since  been  the 
prey  of  the  spoiler ;  yet  time  has  not  destroyed  its  matchless 
symmetry,  while  each  passing  age  has  shed  around  it  a  softer 
and  mellower  tint.     This  is  the  Pantheon — once  the  home  of 


226  PAGAT^  MYTHOLOGY. 


Koman  Paganism.  Here,  in  the  days  of  Augustus,  were 
gathered  the  statues  of  the  gods,  in  gold  and  silver,  in  bronze 
and  precious  marbles,  and  every  faith  might  have  found  its 
representative  and  its  tutelary  deity. 

The  Pantheon  is  now  a  Christian  temple.  The  niches  which 
once  were  filled  with  the  gods  of  the  old  mythology,  are  occu- 
pied by  the  busts  of  those  whose  genius  has  won  for  them  an 
immortality  even  on  earth.  We  recognise  the  sculptured  forms 
of  Metastasio,  Poussin,  Annabal  Carracci,  and  Raphael — the 
divinest  painter  of  his  age — while  below  us  are  their  tombs. 
We  tread,  indeed,  on  the  same  marble  pavement  over  which 
once  Roman  Emperors  walked,  yet  a  new  spirit  has  been 
breathed  into  the  edifice,  and  it  has  received  a  nobler  consecra- 
tion than  when  of  old  the  gods  of  Paganism  were  gathered 
within  its  walls.  White-robed  priests  now  minister  there  in 
the  rites  of  Christian  worship — incense  floats  around  the  lofty 
dome — and  no  sounds  are  heard  but  the  voices  of  those  who 
chant  the  solemn  anthems  of  the  Church.  And  thus  this  rehc 
of  the  past,  of  which  Byron  speaks,  as  the 

"  Shrine  of  all  saints,  and  temple  of  all  gods 
From  Jove  to  Jesus" — 

remains  an  enduring  monument  of  the  triumph  of  our  faith. 
Its  transformation  shows  the  result  of  the  conflict  between 
Christianity  and  the  Pagan  Mythology. 

There  was  nothing  prescriptive  in  the  ancient  Paganism.  It 
waged  no  war  of  aggression  with  other  forms  of  faith.     Each 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  22l 

tribe  and  nation  had  its  own  deities,  and  while  it  worshipped 
them,  it  cared  not  to  interfere  with  the  creed  of  its  neighbors. 
It  added  perhaps  to  the  pride  of  the  conquerors,  to  have  the 
conviction  that  their  gods  were  more  powerful  than  those  of 
the  vanquished,  and  thus  the  contest  was  extended  from  the 
earth  to  the  rulers  of  the  invisible  world  ;  yet  even  in  this  case 
they  did  not  question  the  right  of  those  whom  they  regarded  as 
weaker  deities,  to  possess  some  place  in  the  heavenly  hierarchy. 
It  was  in  this  spirit  that  the  exulting  King  of  Assyria  inquired, 
— "  Hath  any  of  the  gods  of  the  nations  delivered  at  all  his 
land  out  of  the  hand  of  the  King  of  Assyria  ?  Where  are  the 
gods  of  Hamath  and  of  Arpad?  Where  are  the  gods  of 
Sepharvaim,  Hena,  and  Ivah  ?  have  they  dehvered  Samaria 
out  of  mine  hand  ?"*  Yet  never  do  we  find  any  attempt  to 
impose  their  own  faith  upon  the  conquered,  nor  was  it  regarded 
as  a  matter  of  any  moment  which  of  the  crowded  hosts  of 
Olympus  they  had  chosen  for  their  tutelary  deities.  These,  too, 
were  often  looked  upon  as  having  only  a  local  power,  and  when 
therefore  men  abandoned  their  own  country,  they  often  gave 
up  also  the  gods  they  had  worshipped  there,  and  adopted  in 
their  place  those  of  the  nation  among  whom  they  dwelt.  It 
was  this  feeling  of  a  restricted  and  territorial  dominion  which 
dictated  the  advice  the  King  of  Assyria  received  from  his  ser- 
vants, after  his  defeat  by  the  Israelites — "  Their  gods  were 
gods  of  the  hills  ;  therefore  they  were  stronger  than  we  ;  but 

*  2  Kings,  xviii  33. 


228  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 


let  us  fight  against  them  in  the  plain,  and  surely  we  shall  be 
stronger  than  they."*  A  persecution  of  the  religion  of  a  coun- 
try had  generally  some  ulterior  object,  and  was  directed  against 
their  faith  because  it  was  interwoven  with  some  popular  feeling 
of  a  political  nature.  Such  was  that  terrible  persecution  of  the 
Jews  by  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  when  he  desecrated  their  tem- 
ple and  slew  their  priests,  because  they  would  not  conform  to 
the  rites  of  idolatry.  He  cared  nothing  for  their  faith,  except 
that  he  recognised  in  it  the  foundation  of  a  fierce  fanaticism, 
which  would  lead  them  to  throw  off  his  yoke,  and  therefore  he 
endeavored  to  crush  it.f  But  the  idea  of  a  deliberate  warfare 
against  any  form  of  faith,  for  the  purpose  of  supplanting  it  by 
another  system,  with  any  reference  to  the  spiritual  interests  of 
those  who  were  to  be  affected  by  the  change,  was  something 
utterly  at  variance  with  the  loose  and  tolerant  notions  of  the 
ancient  Pagans. 

And  in  this  feehng  the  Romans  fully  shared.  It  was  the 
policy  of  the  Imperial  City,  as  the  head  of  a  universal  empire, 
to  collect  within  her  walls  the  representatives  of  every  faith, 
and  to  give  to  all  their  gods  a  place  within  her  Pantheon. 
"  All  were  considered  by  the  people  as  equally  true  ;  by  the 
philosopher  as  equally  false  ;  and  by  the  magistrate  as  equally 
useful It  was  customary  to  tempt  the  protectors  of  be- 
sieged cities  by  the  promise  of  more  distinguished  honors  than 
they  possessed  in  their  native  country.     Rome  gradually  be- 

*  1  Kings,  xx.  28.  \  1  Mace.  L  42,  and  2  Mace.  vi. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  229 


came  the  common  temple  of  her  subjects,  and  the  freedom  of 
the  city  was  bestowed  on  the  gods  of  all  mankind."*  Thus 
she  bound  the  foreign  nations  to  their  allegiance  by  the  ties  of 
superstition,  and  riveted  their  chains  more  firmly  than  could 
have  been  done  by  the  force  of  her  armies.  Worship  was 
offered  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  in  many  a  strange  tongue. 
The  Greek  could  bow  before  the  statues  of  Jupiter  and  Apollo, 
and  find  his  own  faith  transplanted  from  the  groves  of  Acade- 
mus  and  the  classic  fountains  of  Hymettus.  The  Egyptian,  too, 
encountered  here  the  solemn  and  typical  worship  of  his  burning 
clime,  and  as  he  wandered  through  the  streets  he  met  the 
priests  of  Isis,  and  saw  upon  the  temples  the  familiar  emblems 
of  the  ox  Apis  and  the  dog-headed  Anubis.  The  dusky  In- 
dian from  the  distant  Ganges,  discovered  there  his  own  mis- 
shapen idols,  and  fellow-worshippers  in  the  creed  he  had  al- 
ways professed.  The  philosophers  of  Greece  taught  their 
atheistic  creed,  and  sneered  at  the  popular  superstition  as  some- 
thing intended  only  for  the  mental  childhood  of  the  human  race 
— while  the  strange  rites  of  the  Phrygian  priests — the  Isaic 
and  Scrapie  worship  from  the  Nile — and,  at  a  later  day,  the 
Mithriac  mysteries — had  each  their  followers.  The  Jews, 
when  peacefully  obeying  the  laws,  practised  the  rites  of  their 
faith  unimpeded  by  persecution,  and  one  of  their  race,  Alitu- 
rus,  was  even  for  a  time  the  favorite  of  Nero,  yet  without  for- 
saking his  religion.      And  if  we  look  at  still   more  distant 


Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,  ch.  i. 
20 


230  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

Oriental  creeds,  we  might  find  in  Rome  the  followers  of  the 
Babylonian  Mylitta,  and  see  the  obsequious  senate  gather  around 
Elagabalus,  while  he  celebrated  the  Syrian  worship  of  the  sun. 
Thus,  every  form  of  faith  was  there,  side  by  side,  and  to  all 
was  extended  the  same  toleration. 

On  these  terms  Christianity  too  might  have  been  introduced, 
and  the  sculptured  image  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  have  taken  its 
place  by  the  side  of  many  a  heathen  deity,  without  any  being 
found  to  object.  But  this  could  never  be.  The  faith  could 
form  no  alliance  with  error.  It  could  not  tolerate  a  divided 
worship.  It  claimed  the  whole  field  to  itself.  It  demanded 
the  entire  dominion  of  the  human  mind  and  heart.  It  waged 
a  war  of  extermination  with  every  thing  which  professed  not 
the  same  creed  with  itself.  It  was  the  first  time  in  the  annals 
of  the  world  that  any  religion  had  gone  forth  to  acquire  a 
universal  and  permanent  conquest  over  every  other  behef. 
The  Apostles  proclaimed,  that  when  they  built  up  the  fabric 
of  the  new  faith  in  its  severe  and  solenoin  beauty,  the  structure 
must  be  founded  on  the  wrecks  of  all  existing  religious 
systems.  The  very  announcement,  therefore,  of  the  Advent 
of  Christianity,  arrayed  against  it  every  form  of  Paganism.  It 
was  at  once  encircled  by  countless  enemies.  It  stood  alone  to 
wage  a  warfare  against  the  faith  of  the  earth.  Every  man's 
hand  was  raised  to  smite  the  arrogant  intruder ;  and  the  only 
voice  heard  from  an  infuriated  populace  was  the  cry — "  To  the 
lions  with  the  Christians."  We  feel,  therefore,  that  St.  Paul 
was  giving  a  noble  proof  of  his  courage,  when  he  wrote  to  the 


PAGAN   MYTHOLOGY.  231 

converts  in  the  Imperial   City — "I  am  ready  to  preach  the 
Gospel  to  you  that  are  at  Rome  also." 

In  considering,  then,  the  conflict  of  Christianity  with  Pagan- 
ism, we  would  assume  as  its  general  representative,  that  beau- 
tiful mythology  which,  originating  in  the  forgotten  ages  of 
elder  times,  had  before  the  Advent  of  Christianity  been  refined 
into  a  poetical  system,  which  even  now,  when  exploded  as  a 
form  of  faith,  exercises  its  influence  over  the  imagination  and 
the  intellect.  It  is  the  Ionian  mythology  to  which  we  usually 
refer,  when  we  speak  of  the  classical  Paganism.  To  us  it  is 
identified  with  the  remembrance  of  Greece,  for  there  was  its 
chosen  home,  and  amidst  her  groves  and  temples  it  reached 
its  highest  glory.  Her  poets  first  gathered  up  the  primitive 
traditions  of  those  Eastern  lands,  and  then,  moulding  them  in 
their  songs,  brought  forth  those  lofty  poetical  creations  which 
come  down  to  us  in  the  verse  of  Homer  and  her  tragic  writers. 
It  had  its  origin  in  their  fertile  imaginations ;  and  what  at  first 
was  a  religious  fable,  sank  into  the  hearts  of  other  generations 
and  became  a  worship  of  faith.  The  fanciful  allegory  was 
looked  upon  by  the  men  of  after  ages  as  veritable  history,  and 
the  wild  legend  which  once  appealed  only  to  the  imagination, 
was  moulded  up  at  last  into  a  solemn  creed. 

And  yet  everywhere  the  elements  of  Pagan  worship  were 
the  same.  The  gods  of  Egypt  were  those  of  Greece,  under 
different  names ;  and  could  we  now  decipher  the  mystic  char- 
acters on  their  obelisks,  and  thus  interpret  their  system,  we 
should  find  that  the  sacred  animals  were  to  them  only  a  kind 


232  PAGAN   MYTHOLOGY. 

of  living  ritual,  each  one  so  consecrated  being  a  mystical  type.* 
This  was  only  their  form  of  expressing  truths  which  they  held 
in  common  with  many  other  nations.  The  same  attributes 
which  they  worshipped  in  Serapis  as  the  regenerating  principle 
of  the  universe,  and  lord  of  the  regions  beyond  the  grave,  we 
can  trace  in  the  ^sculapius  and  Hades  of  their  Hellenic 
neighbors ;  while  in  the  symbolic  three-headed  animal  which 
stood  by  the  side  of  his  colossal  statue  in  the  sanctuary  at 
Alexandria,  the  Greeks  saw  the  type  of  their  own  poetic 
Cerberus.  The  Baal  and  Ashtaroth  from  whom  the  Jews 
shrank  in  horror,  found  their  counterparts  among  the  groves 
of  Athens ;  while  the  cumbrous  and  multiform  idol,  like  that 
in  the  shrine  of  the  Ephesian  Diana,  which  by  its  innumerable 
heads,  or  arms,  or  breasts,  represented  wisdom,  or  power,  or 
fertihty,  was  obliged  to  be  transformed  to  suit  the  polished 
taste  of  the  Greeks.  When  introduced  among  them,  it  was 
refined  into  a  being  free  from  the  deformities  it  exhibited  in  its 
Asian  home,  and  only  distinguished  from  human  nature  by  a 
fuller  development  of  the  noblest  physical  qualities  of  man.f 
There  the  fierce  war-god  of  the  Northern  tribes  is  invested 
with  the  more  heroic  traits  of  Mars ;  while  in  the  Minerva  who 
had  become  the  tutelary  deity  of  Athens,  we  can  recognise  the 
ancient  Onca  of  the  Phoenicians.];     Thus  there  was  no  wide 


*  Faher's  Foreign  Peoples  and  Churches,  p.  539. 
f  Milman's  Hist,  of  Christianity,  v.  i  p.  9. 

X  In  the  "  Septem  contra  Thebas"  of  -^schylus,  the  chorus  invoke 
Minerva  by  this  name. 


PAGAN    MYTHOLOGY.  23S 

gulf  which  separated  the  creeds  of  the  Athenian  and  the 
Syrian — the  Egyptian  and  the  Persian.  Their  outward  de- 
velopments may  have  varied,  but  when  their  general  principles 
are  examined,  all  important  differences  vanish  away.  And  in 
this  way  we  may  trace  a  family  resemblance  between  all  the 
religions  of  antiquity,  countless  as  they  seem  to  be.  All  pos- 
sessed originally  the  same  traditions,  though  as  ages  went  by 
they  necessarily  received  additions  which  gradually  destroyed 
their  early  hkeness  to  each  other.  Yet  it  was  the  same  Pa- 
ganism everywhere,  changing  only  its  form  to  suit  the  genius 
of  each  particular  nation.  In  taking  up,  therefore,  that  popu- 
lar mythology  which  has  come  down  to  us,  we  are  bringing 
forward  a  representation  of  the  Paganism  of  the  world. 

Let  us  look,  then,  at  the  hold  which  this  faith  had  upon  its 
votaries.  It  appealed  to  them  by  its  beauty ;  and  never,  as  we 
have  shown  in  a  former  chapter,  were  a  people  formed  so 
susceptible  to  all  that  was  refined  and  graceful,  as  those  who 
had  adopted  and  moulded  into  an  enduring  system  this  imagi- 
native creed.  Their  religion  came  from  the  dim  traditions 
of  the  earliest  ages  ;  but  these  were  shaped  into  form  by 
their  poets,  who  colored  the  superstitions  they  had  inherited. 
These  with  them  constituted  the  union  between  the  \^sible  and 
the  imseen.  Yet,  in  every  land,  the  popular  mythology  was 
to  receive  its  character,  not  only  from  the  genius  of  the  people, 
but  even  from  the  forms  in  which  nature  around  was  presented 
to  their  eyes,  and  those  thousand  associations  which  acted  on 
their  daily  life.     The  inhabitants  of  the  dark  primeval  forests 

20* 


234  PAOAN   MYTHOLOGY. 

of  the  North  could  not  portray  to  themselves  a  deity  invested 
with  grace  and  beauty.  Amid  the  wild  and  gloomy  scenes 
about  them,  the  superstition  to  which  they  bowed  assumed 
the  same  character,  and  the  spiritual  beings  to  whom  they 
paid  their  homage  were  clothed  with  a  terror  which  gave 
them  all  the  attributes  of  demons.  Far  different,  however, 
was  the  case  with  the  refined  and  polished  Greeks,  whose 
home  was  in  an  enchanting  clime — bright  skies  above  them — 
bright  waters  gushing  from  each  fountain  and  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight — and  every  scene  around  one  of  cheerfulness  and 
beauty.  There  the  genius  of  Homer  had  called  forth  from 
the  shadows  of  Olympus  those  lifelike  creations  which  other 
generations  were  to  worship  as  gods — beings  clothed  in  the 
fairest  forms,  and  whose  ministrations  on  earth  were  those  of 
kindness  to  the  children  of  this  lower  race. 

And  flie  peculiar  character  of  their  deities  appealed  most 
strongly  to  their  hearts.  They  were  each  represented  with 
the  distinctness  of  a  hving  man — their  attributes  portrayed 
— ^their  traits  delineated — until  Apollo  or  Mercury  stood  out 
in  bold  relief  to  the  view  of  an  Athenian,  and  each  was  in- 
dividualized with  a  distinctness  which  prevented  his  image 
from  being  in  any  way  confused  with  that  of  others  in  the 
crowded  court  of  Olympus.  Their  characters  were  not  left 
to  be  uncertain  and  unknown — realized  only  by  the  exertion 
of  their  infinite  power.  And  then,  too,  they  seemed  to  possess 
the  attributes  of  our  nature,  only  carried  to  a  higher  point 
of  excellence.     They  were  half   human,  half  divine — uniting 


PAOAN  MYTHOLOGY.  235 

the  lofty  power  of  a  god  with  the  warm  affections  of  a  man — 
sharing  in  the  loves  and  hates  of  those  who  worshipped  them. 
There  were,  therefore,  associations  and  sympathies  which  bomid 
them  to  earth,  and  the  Greek  felt  this,  even  when  he  looked 
upon  the  Father  of  gods  as  clothed  with  the  ineffable  splendor 
of  an  inhabitant  of  heaven,  and  shaking  the  universe  with  his 
nod.  The  supernatural  world  was  not  removed  far  away 
from  him,  nor  were  the  feehngs  of  those  who  directed  its 
agencies  incomprehensible  even  to  the  dwellers  on  this  earth 
below. 

And  can  we  not  perceive  the  influence  exerted  by  thus 
bringing  their  deities  near  to  themselves — investing  them  with 
human  attributes — and  connecting  them  with  the  affairs  of 
this  lower  world?  We  see  it  in  our  own  creed.  We  can 
bow  in  reverence  before  a  God,  shrouded  in  the  darkness  of 
His  own  incomprehensible  nature.  Yet  there  is  something 
in  this  too  sublime  and  shadowy  to  be  grasped  by  our 
feeble  minds — there  is  a  want  of  that  connection  which  can 
interest  the  heart,  and  awaken  all  those  touching  associations 
to  which  we  in  our  weakness  cling.  But  if  we  believe  that 
He  put  on  mortahty  and  walked  among  human  habitations, 
bearing  our  sorrows,  like  unto  us  in  form,  then  a  new  tie 
has  been  created  to  bind  us  to  Him.  The  Christ  who  tasted 
the  bitterness  of  death  and  suffered  on  the  cross — who  is 
"  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities" — is  the  Being 
before  whom  our  hearts  bow,  and  at  whose  shrine  we  offer 
up  our  hoUest  affections.     We  feel   that   there  is  something 


236  PAGAJS^  MYTHOLOGY. 

here  within  the  reach  of  our  comprehension — the  imagination 
can  dwell  upon  the  solemn  scenes  of  His  pilgrimage — while 
we  shrink  in  awe  from  the  contemplation  of  that  Dread 
Being,  of  whom  prophets  speak  as  "  the  High  and  lofty  One 
that  inhabiteth  eternity."*  It  was  the  want  of  this  intimate 
union  between  Divinity  and  Humanity  which  age  after  age 
drove  the  Jews  into  idolatry,  as  they  sought  in  sensible  em- 
blems for  something  on  which  the  mind  could  rest;  and  it 
is  the  possession  of  this  which  has  always  invested  Christiani- 
ty with  so  much  of  tenderness  and  love,  and  adapted  it  to 
all  the  wants  of  our  frail  and  eriing  nature.  This  dark  and 
sinful  world  has  been  brightened  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  and 
the  very  earth  on  which  we  now  tread  been  fragrant  with  His 
footsteps.  The  confiding  heart,  therefore,  has  pictured  before 
it,  Infinite  and  All-embracing  Love  assuming  a  visible  Form. 

And  it  was  something  of  this  feeling  of  the  humanness 
of  their  faith,  which  imparted  to  the  religion  of  Paganism — if 
we  may  be  allowed  the  comparison — all  the  vitality  that  it 
possessed.  In  those  poetical  legends,  which,  as  we  have  said, 
gave  form  and  system  to  their  mythology,  the  powers  of 
Olympus  are  represented  as  descending  to  the  earth  and 
sharing  in  human  passions  and  human  labors.  Remove  from 
the  Iliad  the  agency  of  the  Homeric  gods,  and  you  destroy  the 
poem.  Many,  too,  of  their  deities  had  once  been  men,  and  par- 
taken even  of  the  sorrows  of  those  with  whom  they  lived ;  and 

*  Isaiah,  IviL  15. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  237 

was  it  to  be  supposed  that  their  translation  to  a  seat  among 
the  celestial  powers  would  destroy  their  interest  in  the  nations 
among  whom  had  once  been  their  home?  While  on  earth 
they  had  been  the  dispensers  of  blessings  to  men,  who  looked 
back  to  the  golden  age  of  their  sojourn  here  as  the  period  from 
which  they  must  date  the  origin  of  every  benefit  of  social  life. 
Thus  the  heroic  son  of  Alcmcena  had  spent  his  days  in  travail 
and  labor  for  the  human  race,  and  therefore  it  was  that  his 
temples  rose  in  every  land,  and  incense  ascended  for  him  from 
thousands  of  altars  wherever  the  creed  of  Paganism  was  recog- 
nised. The  Dorian  Apollo,  too,  had  shared  our  nature,  when 
to  expiate  a  sin  he  descended  to  this  lower  world,  and  while 
he  passed  years  in  servitude,  showered  benefits  on  his  earthly 
master.  And  this  debt  of  gratitude  owing  to  an  Immortal  is 
what  gives  its  interest  to  the  Prometheus  of  ^schylus,  when 
the  suffering  deity  recounts  the  blessings  he  had  conferred 
upon  man,  and  refers  to  these  as  the  cause  of  the  enmity  of 
Jupiter  and  the  fearful  doom  to  which  he  has  been  subjected. 
Therefore  the  sympathy  of  all  created  beings  is  excited  for. 
the  vanquished  Titan,  and  when  amid  fragrant  odors  and  the 
rushing  of  approaching  wings,  the  Daughters  of  the  Ocean 
come  to  console  him,  it  is  for  this  reason,  they  tell  him,  that 

"  The  wide  earth  echoes  wailingly, 
And  from  the  holy  Asian  dwelling-place, 
Fall  for  a  godhead's  wrongs,  the  mortal's  mimnuring  tears." 

Thus  it  was  that  this  faith  not  only  appealed  to  the  imagi- 
nation of  men  by  its  beauty,  but  also  to  their  hearts,  by  being 


238  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

associated  with  the  affairs  of  their  daily  Hfe.  It  was  indeed 
not  only  lofty  and  august,  elevating  that  spirit  of  poetry  to 
whose  breath  il  owed  its  own  influence,  but  also  household 
and  familiar.  And  although  when  we  look  back  to  it,  we  do 
so  as  if  in  a  Platonic  cave  in  which  we  are  entranced  in  a 
dream,  while  shadowy  forms  move  before  our  eyes,  yet  to  the 
Greek  it  had  a  living  reality.  It  was  all  that  connected  him 
with  the  world  of  spirits.  It  was  the  only  ray  of  light  which 
shot  athwart  the  Dark  Valley,  and  gilded  the  clouds  which  had 
gathered  on  the  Mount  beyond. 

And  we  much  mistake  the  feelings  of  the  Greeks,  and  the 
manner  in  which  their  faith  acted  on  their  daily  lives,  if  we 
confine  our  view  of  their  religion  to  the  hght  thrown  on  it 
by  those  fables  which  not  only  endowed  the  gods  with  the 
attributes  of  our  nature,  but  also  degraded  them  to  all  the 
weaknesses  and  vice  of  fallen  humanity.  These  bore  the  same 
relation  to  the  faith  itself,  as  in  our  day  the  tales  of  sprite  and 
fairy  do  to  the  solemn  verities  of  Christian  doctrine.  There 
was  a  religion  of  imagination  and  another  of  faith ;  and  while 
to  the  poets  the  gods  were  beings  who  held  their  shadowy 
thrones  on  Olympus,  to  the  multitude  their  existence  was  a 
solemn  article  of  their  creed — something  actual  and  palpable. 
While,  therefore,  they  laughed  in  the  theatre  at  the  ludicrous 
pictures  which  Aristophanes  drew  of  Hercules  and  Bacchus, 
they  could  pass  from  thence  at  once  to  the  temples  of  these 
deities,  and  offer  sacrifice  there  with  reverence  unimpaired  and 
faith  unweakened. 


PAaAN  MYTHOLOGY.  239 

And  we  may  add,  too,  that  it  was  this  characteristic  of  the 

religion  of  the  Greeks — this  connection  between  the  divine  and 

the  human — which  in  art  gave  its  highest  inspiration  to  genius. 

They  drew  their  subjects  from  the  old  ancestral  faith — from 

the  legends  of  a  dim  traditionary  age — and  these,  being  the 

offspring  of  Poetry,  elevated   and  refined  their  conceptions. 

We  never  find  them  forming  the  grotesque  images  by  which  in 

the  East  men  endeavored  to  shadow  forth  the  attributes  of 

their  gods.     If  the  Greeks  attempted  to  dehneate  the  typical 

and  mystical,  the  conception  was  redeemed  by  the  impress  of 

beauty  stamped  upon  it.     The  artist  who  would  create  with 

his  chisel  a  representation  of  Apollo,  took  for  his  models  the 

noblest  human  forms,  and  then  endeavored  to  surpass  them, 

and  throw  around  his  statue  something  more  majestic  and 

beautiful  than  he  could  find  on  earth.    He  struggled  to  ascend 

beyond  the  Visible  and  to  reach  the  Ideal.     He  lost  sight  of 

the  sensual  and  the  earthly  in  the  Imaginative  and  the  Divine. 

Therefore  it  is  that  now,  at  the  distance  of  two  thousand  years, 

crowds  still  gather  in  speechless  admiration  around  the  Apollo 

Belvidere  in  the  Hall  of  the  Vatican,  and  the  testimony  of  every 

generation  has  been,  that  here 

"  are  express'd 
All  that  ideal  beauty  ever  bless'd 
The  mind  with,  in  its  most  imearthly  mood, 
When  each  conception  was  a  heavenly  guest — 
A  ray  of  immortality — and  stood 
Star-like  around,  until  they  gather'd  to  a  god  1" 

But  let  us  look  at  another  consideration — the  universality  of 


240  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

this  faith — and  we  will  see  the  difficulty  of  rooting  out  a  sys- 
tem so  entwined  with  every  department  of,  life.  With  the 
Jew,  the  adoption  of  the  New  Faith — if  he  had  rightly  under- 
stood his  own — required  no  violent  transition.  For  ages  his 
nation  had  been  preparing  for  this  "  fulness  of  time,"  and 
when  it  came,  he  passed  at  once  from  the  dimness  of  a  mul- 
titude of  types,  to  a  perception  of  the  unclouded  reality.  In 
the  new  creed  he  was  required  to  adopt,  he  recognised  only 
the  perfection  of  his  own  undeveloped  system.  He  worshipped 
the  same  God  as  before,  only  he  now  approached  Him  through 
the  mediation  of  His  Son  ;  and  in  Jesus  of  Nazareth  he  beheld 
"  the  brightness  of  His  glory  and  the  express  Image  of  His 
person."  But  with  the  Pagan  it  was  not  so.  In  the  wreck  of 
his  former  creed,  there  was  nothing  remaining  to  which  he  could 
cling.  The  change  to  Christianity  was  one  which  was  thorough 
and  radical.  It  extended  to  every  part  of  his  being.  It  swept 
away  his  cherished  views  in  every  department  of  religion  and 
morals,  and  in  their  place  built  up  a  new  system  utterly  at 
variance  with  all  in  which  he  had  formerly  believed.  When, 
therefore,  he  avowed  the  faith  of  the  Nazarene,  the  future  was 
to  have  no  sympathies  with  the  past.  He  had  entered  an 
entirely  new  world  of  thought  and  feeling.  "  Old  things  had 
passed  away  ;  all  things  had  become  new." 

We  cannot  read  the  writers  of  that  day  without  feeling  that 
the  whole  life  of  the  heathen  was  directed  and  regulated  by 
the  spirit  of  Polytheism.  It  threw  its  chains  around  him  in  a 
way  in  which  no  other  faith  has  ever  done.     He  could  not  es- 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  241 

cape  from  its  all- pervading  influence.  It  met  him,  wherever 
he  was,  and  whatever  he  was  doing.  Nothing  was  too  lofty  to 
be  within  its  reach — nothing  too  insignificant  to  admit  of  its 
regulation.  All  the  grave  aflairs  of  state  were  ushered  in  by- 
its  ceremonial.  The  Senate — whose  meetings  were  always  held 
in  a  temple  or  consecrated  place — commenced  its  deliberations 
with  sacrifice,  and  each  senator,  before  he  entered  on  business, 
dropped  some  wine  or  frankincense  on  the  altar.  The  gods 
were  appealed  to  as  the  arbiters  of  battle,  and  in  the  centre 
of  the  camp  was  always  erected  a  consecrated  shrine.  In  the 
same  way  it  entered  into  all  the  circumstances  of  domestic  life ; 
and  St.  Augustine,  in  his  "  City  of  God,"  has  devoted  page 
after  page  to  showing  this  intimate  connection,  and  how  some 
fabulous  deity  was  ready  to  preside  over  each  mmute  act  the 
heathen  could  perform.  When  he  travelled  on  the  land  he 
was  under  the  protection  of  one  divinity,  and  on  the  sea,  of  an- 
other. The  public  games,  which  constituted  the  amusements 
of  the  ancients,  were  often  regarded  as  ofierings  in  honor  of  par- 
ticular deities,  and  were  at  all  times  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  their  faith.  Therefore  it  is  that  the  Christians  were 
entirely  debarred  from  them,  and  TertuUian  denounces  them 
with  such  unsparing  severity,  consigning  to  the  same  condem- 
nation the  combats  of  the  gladiators,  and  the  lofty  tragedies  of 
Euripides.*  When,  too,  the  heathen  entered  his  home,  he 
passed  at  once  into  the  protection  of  his  household  divinities. 


*  De  Spectaculis. 
21 


242  PAaAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

and  tlie  ancestral  gods  of  his  family  or  tribe  which  presided 
over  his  domestic  hearth.  Around  him,  in  the  ornaments  of 
his  house — the  paintings  which  adorned  its  walls,  and  the  fur- 
niture of  its  rooms — were  interwoven  representations  of  the 
gods,  and  allusions  to  those  poetic  fictions,  which  with  him 
were  matters  of  faith.  Even  the  commonest  household  uten- 
sils and  implements  were  often  cast  into  forms  which  had  some 
relation  to  their  mythology.  Thus,  it  not  only  pervaded  and 
animated  the  compositions  of  their  genius,  and  was,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  the  source  from  which  poetry,  and  eloquence,  and 
art  drew  their  insphation,  but  its  influence  was  felt  in  the  most 
trifling  events  of  every-day  hfe. 

We  see,  then,  the  contest  which  the  early  Christians  had  to 
maintain,  when  they  came  out  from  all  these  old  associations. 
It  was  one  which  was  waged  everywhere — in  the  city  and 
the  country — ^not  only  in  Imperial  Rome,  but  even  in  the  most 
retired  village  of  the  distant  provinces.  They  were  to  look 
with  feelings  of  abhorrence  upon  each  temple  and  shrine — 
each  sacred  grove  and  hallowed  fountain — for  all  had  been 
polluted  as  the  abode  of  demons  and  the  scene  of  abomi- 
nable idolatries.  Each  glorious  representation  of  their  ancient 
gods,  on  which  the  sculptor  had  lavished  all  his  skill,  was  to 
be  to  them  but  an  unmeaning  mass  of  stone.  They  were  to 
flee  with  trembling  fear  from  their  old  familiar  festivals,  for 
these  were  founded  on  the  legends  of  idolatry.  The  laurel 
branch  they  bore  was  sacred  to  the  lover  of  Daphne,  and  the 
garland  of  flowers,  though  frequently  worn  as  a  symbol  either 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY.  243 

of  joy  or  mourning,  had  been  dedicated  in  its  first  origin  to  the 
service  of  superstition.*  And  so  it  was  in  all  those  scenes 
where  kindred  are  accustomed  to  meet  and  recognise  the  bond 
of  relationship.  They  could  not  listen  to  "  the  dirge-note  or 
the  song  of  festival."  They  could  not  be  with  the  bride  when, 
struggling  with  affected  reluctance,  she  was  borne  over  the 
threshold  of  her  husband,  or  partake  in  any  part  of  the  hyme- 
neal pomp.  In  dread  of  idolatry  they  shut  their  ears  to  the 
nuptial  hymn — "  0  Hymen,  Hymensee  lo  !" — for  to  them  it 
sounded  hke  an  invocation  of  evil  spirits.  And  so  it  was  when  the 
mourning  relatives  bore  the  dead  in  sad  procession  to  the  funeral 
pile.  There,  too,  every  rite  was  one  of  heathenism — the  blood 
of  victims  was  offered  in  idolatry,  and  the  lustral  water  which 
was  sprinkled  on  the  attendants,  was  to  them  "  the  baptism  of 
devils."  They  could  not  be  present  at  a  social  feast  without 
seeing  a  libation  made  to  the  gods ;  and  they  shrank  even  from 
the  blessing  of  love,  since  it  was  framed  in  the  name  of  those 
whom  they  looked  upon  as  demons.  Their  whole  language, 
indeed,  had  to  be  remodelled,  for  the  phrases  of  common  life 
were  filled  with  allusions  to  their  popular  religion,  and  the 
words  of  affection  and  worship  were  so  entwined,  that  it  seemed 
impossible  to  banish  the  one  and  retain  the  other.  The  good 
wishes  they  endeavored  to  express  became  chilled  and  unmean- 
ing, when  they  dropped  the  customary  allusions  to  the  gods  of 
their  faith.     The  adoption  of  Christianity,  therefore,  alienated 

*  Gibbon. 


244  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

I 

them  from  all  to  which  the  heart  most  clings,  and  severed  the 
dearest  bonds  of  life.  The  ties  were  broken  which  united  them 
to  the  tender  reminiscences  of  youth,  and  to  the  love  of  those 
whose  faith  and  hope,  creeds  and  interests,  were  separated 
from  their  own  by  "  a  great  gulf,"  which  none  could  pass. 

It  was,  however,  away  from  the  noise  of  the  busy  city,  and 
amid  the  quiet  retreats  of  Nature,  that  the  spirit  of  Paganism 
was  most  felt,  and  there  it  lons^est  lino^ered  when  elsewhere  its 
influence  was  gone.  The  old  Heathen  ritual  was  bound  up  in 
the  course  of  agriculture,  and  the  population  of  the  country, 
watching  with  trembling  anxiety  the  frequent  vicissitudes  of 
climate,  learned  to  look  to  their  local  deities  for  the  success  of 
seedtime  and  harvest,  and  the  plenty  which  was  to  reward 
their  labors.  To  the  influence  of  these  capricious  deities  they 
referred  the  drought  and  the  mildew,  which  blighted  their 
fields — the  murrain  which  swept  away  their  cattle — and  the 
swarms  of  locusts,  which,  in  an  hour,  destroyed  the  hopes  of 
the  husbandman.  In  every  field  and  garden,  therefore,  were 
found  their  statues — their  shrines  were  erected  in  every  grove 
and  by  every  fountain — and  even  when  converted  to  Christi- 
anity, the  peasant  trembled  at  the  consequences  of  his  own 
apostacy.* 

Infuse  into  this  belief  a  spirit  of  poetry,  and  we  have  what 
gave  its  charm  and  its  wide-spread  influence  to  ancient  hea- 
thenism.    To  its  votaries,  the  golden  age  of  fable  had  not  yet 


*  Milman's  Hist,  of  Christianity,  v.  ii.  p.  lYl. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY.  245 

entirely  faded  into  the  dreariness  of  common  day.  When  the 
poets  sang  of  the  melodies  of  invisible  spirits  haunting  the  air 
in  the  vale  of  Tempe,  or  amid  the  luxurious  glades  of  Paphos, 
they  were  but  announcing  the  existence  of  a  faith  which  for 
them  was  everywhere.  To  their  excited  imaginations,  Naiads 
were  sporting  in  every  fountain,  and  they  heard  the  voices  of 
the  Dryads  in  the  echoes  of  the  woods.  When  the  leaves 
trembled  on  the  branches,  as  the  winds  swept  by,  to  them 
they  seemed  shaken  by  the  Invisible  god ;  and  with  hesitating 
step  they  entered  the  silent  grotto,  or  trod  the  aisles  of  the 
dark  forest,  because  there,  they  felt,  were  especially  the  homes 
of  those  who  I'uled  these  sylvan  scenes.  "  Ipsa  silentia," 
beautifully  says  the  elder  Pliny,  "ipsa  silentia  adoramus." 
And  still  more  eagerly  did  they  recognise  everywhere  the 
creative  energy  of  their  divinities.  When  the  blossom  de- 
lighted them  with  its  fragrance,  Aurora  had  nourished  it  with 
her  tears,  and  Zephyr  expanded  it  with  her  breath.  The  rich 
clustering  grapes  were  the  gift  of  Bacchus ;  and  for  the  bend- 
ing harvest  and  the  golden  fruits  of  autumn  they  were  in- 
debted to  the  benignity  of  Ceres  and  Pomona.  The  very 
lights  of  heaven  were  but  the  radiance  of  the  gods.  In  the 
revolutions  of  the  sun  they  saw  the  path  of  Phcebus,  as, 
seated  in  his  car  of  fire,  and  borne  along  by  immortal  steeds, 
he  daily  circled  round  the  world,  and  poured  light  and  joy 
over  the  universe.  The  sea,  too,  had  its  rulers.  In  its  coral 
palaces,  Thetis  and  her  nymphs  celebrated  their  mysterious 
revels  ;  while,  through  the  blue  waters,  the  long-hahed  Triton 

21* 


246  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

floated  in  his  car  of  pearl,  and  guided  some  favored  bark  from 
the  whirlpool  or  the  rock.*  Thus,  over  the  whole  face  of  the 
land,  brooded  the  spirit  of  Paganism ;  and  to  the  believers  in 
this  ancient  creed  it  was  not  only  a  matter  of  poetic  imagina- 
tion, but  of  actual  faith,  that 

"  Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake,  and  when  we  sleep." 

Can  we  wonder,  then,  that  the  heathen  shrank  from  Chris- 
tianity, when  it  called  him  to  give  up  those  graceful  supersti- 
tions which  were  never  silent — ^which  were  so  entwined  with 
the  actions  of  his  life  as  to  become  a  part  of  the  life  itself  ? 
To  him,  the  sublime  faith  of  the  Nazarene  was  a  melancholy 
one,  because  it  swept  away  the  countless  deities  whose  altars 
filled  the  earth.  "  What  ?  should  all  this  beautiful  world  be 
made  only  human  ? — the  mountain  disenchanted  of  its  Oread — 
the  waters  of  their  Nymph — that  beautiful  prodigality  of  faith, 
which  made  every  thing  divine,  consecrating  the  meanest  flowers, 
bearing  celestial  whispers  in  the  faintest  breeze — should  he 
deny  this,  and  make  the  earth  mere  dust  and  clay  ?  No  ;  all 
that  was  brightest  in  their  hearts  was  that  very  credulity  which 
peopled  the  universe  with  gods.  ...  So  abundant  was  belief 
with  them,  that  in  their  own  climes,  at  this  hour,  idolatry  has 
never  thoroughly  been  outrooted  ;  it  changes  but  its  objects  of 
worship ;  it   appeals   to   innumerable   saints,    where   once   it 

*  Alley's  Vindicice  Christiance,  p.  18. 


PAGAIS^  MYTHOLOGY.  247 

resorted  to  divinities ;  and  it  pours  its  crowds,  in  listening 
reverence,  to  oracles  at  the  shrines  of  St.  Januarius  and  St. 
Dominic,  instead  of  to  those  of  Isis  or  Apollo."* 

The  belief,  too,  of  the  ancients,  in  divination,  constantly 
brought  their  faith  before  them.  It  seemed  to  have  strongly 
impressed  upon  their  minds  a  consciousness  that  the  spiritual 
world  was  around  them  and  nigh  them,  and  therefore  they 
were  ever  striving  to  realize  it — to  behold,  in  the  incidents  of 
this  lower  world,  and  even  in  the  patient  lives  and  instincts  of 
the  brute  creation — some  manifestation  of  what  was  passing  in 
the  Invisible,  or  what  was  yet  to  take  place  in  the  shadowy 
Future.  There  was  among  the  nations  of  antiquity  a  wide- 
spread Pantheism,  which  made  them  bestow  a  kind  of  worship 
on  the  earth  itself,  and  look  upon  her  as  a  treasure-house  of 
knowledge,  and  the  vehicle  of  revelation  to  man.  The  exhala- 
tions which  streamed  up  from  her  depths,  as  at  Delphi,  in- 
spired those  who  breathed  them,  and  to  the  awestruck  specta- 
tors, their  wild  ravings  seemed  the  oracles  of  the  gods.  The 
Greek  heard  not  only  the  whisper  of  prophecy  in  the  quivering 
of  the  Dodonsean  oaks,  and  read  its  tokens  in  the  sportive  forms 
in  which  the  wind  strewed  the  fallen  leaves,  but,  to  his  eye,  in 
every  thing  there  were  signs  and  warnings.  When  the  spirit 
of  the  earthquake  was  abroad,  as  the  Titan,  moving  on  his 
burning  couch,  sent  his  convulsive  throes  through  the  upper 
world — or  the  storm  swept  by — or  the  comet  and  the  meteor 

*  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,  v.  i.  pp.  200,  201. 


248  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

glared  upon  the  heavens — he  felt  that  they  bore  with  them 
their  mystic  warning,  *'  presaging  wrath  to  nations."  The 
clustering  of  bees — the  direction  in  which  birds  winged  their 
flight — and  the  motions  of  serpents — came  to  him  with  a  mes- 
sage from  the  spiritual  world.  The  victims  at  the  altar  were 
not  merely  offerings  to  the  gods,  but  each  was  a  volume  in 
which  the  ministering  priest  read  prophecies  of  the  future. 
The  interpretation  of  dreams,  too,  was  a  science,  in  the  study 
of  which  the  learned  spent  their  lives ;  and  each  strange  fancy 
which  flitted  through  the  brain  of  the  unconscious  sleeper,  was 
treasured  up  in  his  waking  hours,  and  deemed  an  augury  of 
evil  or  of  good.  The  world  around  was  filled  with  omens. 
No  event,  indeed,  was  so  trifling  as  to  claim  exemption  from 
this  mystic  interpretation.  An  accident — a  hasty  word — an 
unexpected  meeting — any  thing  which  varied,  in  the  slightest 
degree,  the  course  of  ordinary  life — was  registered,  as  if  only 
the  shadow  of  some  reality  soon  to  be  developed.  Thus  it 
was  that  they  were  ever  on  the  watch  for  tokens  from  the  land 
of  spirits. 

We  can  see,  then,  how  the  ancient  heathen  lived  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  rehgion.  It  was  with  him,  not  only  in  the  temple 
and  the  solemn  festival,  but  in  the  camp  and  in  the  market- 
place— in  times  of  joy  and  sorrow — in  the  gay  nuptial  rite, 
and  in  the  funeral  solemnity.  There  came  no  time  when  he 
could  put  away  from  him  the  remembrance  of  his  faith,  but  its 
solemn  sanctions  and  its  varied  rites  ever  encircled  him,  and  in  his 
daily  life  he  was  forced  to  carry  out  that  injunction  of  the  an- 


paga:n  mythology.  249 


cient  lawgiver  to  his  people — "  Thou  shalt  talk  of  these  things 
when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house,  and  when  thou  walkest  by 
the  way,  and  when  thou  liest  down,  and  when  thou  risest 
up."* 

Nor,  must  we  believe  that  in  the  age  in  which  Christianity 
appeared,  this  faith  had  entirely  lost  its  hold  upon  the  minds 
of  the  people.  Skepticism  had,  indeed,  been  spread  abroad, 
and  the  lesson  inculcated  was,  that  the  old  mythology  was 
only  intended  for  the  mental  childhood  of  the  human  race. 
Yet,  this  was  a  teaching  suited  only  to  the  loftier  thinkers,  and 
common  minds  could  not  be  thus  weaned  from  the  popular 
rehgion.  It  was  philosophy  which  made  the  first  attack  upon 
this  ancient  shrine  in  which  so  many  generations  had  worship- 
ped, or  rather  which  first  commenced  undermining  its  founda- 
tions. Cicero,  indeed,  could  say — "  It  is  marvellous  that  one 
soothsayer  can  look  another  in  the  face  without  laughing" — 
and  Plutarch  declared,  that  when  the  ministering  priest  depart- 
ed from  the  temple,  he  did  so  repeating  the  line  of  Menander — 
"  I  have  sacrificed  to  gods  in  whom  I  have  no  conceni."  Po- 
lybius  and  Strabo,  too,  might  think  it  necessary  to  apologize 
to  their  readers  for  quoting  the  sacred  legends  which  they  be- 
lieved to  be  only  fabulous  tales,  yet  still  the  reverential  feelings 
of  the  multitude  for  their  national  worship  might  have  been 
unaffected.  When  the  reasonings  of  the  enlightened  have  proved 
an  ancient  creed  to  be  but  a  collection  of  fables,  it  is  long  be- 

*  Dmt  vi  7. 


250  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

fore  the  conviction  of  its  emptiness  will  sink  into  the  hearts  of 
the  common  people.  And  so  it  was  in  this  case.  The  cere- 
monies of  their  faith  still  went  on — ^the  temples  were  thronged 
— and  whatv3ver  doctrines  might  have  been  taught  in  the  narrow 
circle  of  the  philosophical  few,  it  would  have  taken  ages  for 
them  to  overthrow  a  popular  superstition  so  entwined  with  the 
hfe,  and  so  jealously  guarded  by  the  crowds  whose  interests 
depended  on  its  perpetuity.  Had  its  only  antagonist  been 
the  coldness  of  skepticism,  it  would  have  retained  its  hfe  and 
energy ;  nor  did  it  at  last  yield,  until  expelled  by  the  over- 
mastering power  of  a  new  affection. 

And  even  among  those  who  boasted  their  exemption  from 
the  terrors  of  the  gods,  we  can  detect  at  times  a  gleam  of  su- 
perstition, which  shows  that  still  they  were  in  bondage  to  the 
fears  they  ridiculed.  If  Pompey,  and  Caesar,  and  Crassus, 
turned  from  the  shrines  of  their  household  gods,  they  yet  con- 
sulted the  Chaldeans,  while  their  miserable  fates  sadly  belied 
the  promises  they  received,  that  death  should  overtake  them 
in  their  ripe  old  age,  in  glory  in  their  homes.*  Even  the  Epi- 
curean Horace,  when  he  hears  thunder  at  noonday,  yields  to 
an  evident  dread  of  the  supernatural  powers,  and  leaves  in  his 
verse  the  traces  of  his  fear.f 


*  Milman's  Hist  of  Christianity,  v.  i.  p.  23. 
f  "  Parous  deorum  cultor  et  infrequens, 
Insanientis  dum  sapientiae 

Consultus  erro,  nxinc  retrorsum 
Vela  dare  atque  iterare  cursus 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  251 

But  this  skepticism,  fashionable  as  it  was  among  some  in  the 
latter  days  of  the  Roman  republic,  soon  passed  away.  Lucian 
indeed  wittily  satirized  Polytheism,  but  we  find  he  had  few 
to  imitate  him.  An  age  of  belief  seems  to  have  succeeded  his 
times — a  season  of  reaction  in  which  even  Epicureanism  lost 
its  advocates.  The  writers  who  in  the  third  century  pretended 
to  treat  of  religion,  abandoned  the  careless  tone  of  contempt 
which  prevailed  in  the  days  of  Cicero.  There  came  again  a 
time  of  reverence,  when  they  endeavored  to  reanimate  the 
fading  superstitions,  and  to  infuse  fresh  life  and  energy  into  the 
ancient  legends  of  their  faith.  This  was  the  Pagan  school  of 
Alexandria,  which  strove  to  mould  into  a  new  shape  the  poetic 
fictions  of  ancient  Greece,  and  to  give  them  vitality  by  means 
of  a  mystic  and  dreamy  enthusiasm.  It  answered  its  purpose, 
however,  to  connect  the  invisible  world  with  the  visible,  and 
enabled  the  old  mythology  to  retain  its  hold  upon  the  mind. 

There  was,  therefore,  a  soul  in  Paganism  ;  and  he  but  little 
comprehends  its  true  spirit  who  looks  upon  it  with  scorn,  as 
only  an  array  of  gross  and  unmeaning  superstitions.  Still  less 
in  this  case  does  he  understand  the  magnitude  of  that  contest 
which  Christianity  was  obliged  to  wage  with  it.  False  as  the 
ancient  mythology  was,  it  supplied  a  want  which  man  must 


Cogor  relictos.    Namque  Diespiter 
Igni  corusco  nubila  dividens 

Pleminque,  per  purum  tonantes 

Egit  equos  volucremque  currum," — Carm.  xxxiv. 


252  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

ever  feel,  of  something  on  which  the  spirit  can  rest  as  being 
higher  than  this  world.  Each  fair  temple  proclaimed  that  there 
was  in  the  faith  a  divinity  to  its  worshippers — setting  forth 
truths,  veiled,  indeed,  yet  still  disclosing  beneath  these  old 
forms  of  heathenism,  the  impress  of  their  purer  origin.  We 
feel,  therefore,  that  we  can  look  beyond  these  outward  devel- 
opments, and  that  the  shattered  remains  of  ancient  beauty 
which  still  give  a  melancholy  interest  to  the  land  of  Pericles, 
speak  to  us  of  a  departed  faith  which  once  had  a  meaning  and 
a  moral  power  to  guide  the  consciences  of  thousands. 

'*  Triumphant  o'er  this  pompous  show 
Of  art,  this  palpable  array  of  sensq, 
On  every  side  encountered ;  in  despite 
Of  the  gross  fictions,  chanted  in  the  streets 
By  wandering  rhapsodists ;  and  in  contempt 
Of  doubt  and  bold  denials  hourly  urged 
Amid  the  wrangling  schools — a  spirit  hung, 
Beautiful  region !  o'er  thy  towns  and  farms, 
Statues  and  temples  and  memorial  tombs  ; 
And  emanations  were  perceived ;  and  acts 
Of  immortality  in  nature's  course, 
Exemplified  by  mysteries  that  were  felt 
As  bonds,  on  grave  philosopher  imposed 
And  armed  warrior ;  and  in  every  grove 
A  gay  or  pensive  tenderness  prevailed, 
When  piety  more  awful  had  relaxed  !"* 

And  this  faith — perhaps  by  the  very  dimness  with  which  it 
portrayed  another  world — incited  to  cheerfulness  and  pleasure 

*  Wordsworth^s  Excursion,  book  iv. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  253 

in  the  present  life.  There  was  no  bright  picture  of  the  reward 
hereafter,  and  therefore,  hemmed  in  by  darkening  shadows 
which  the  eye  could  not  penetrate,  they  clung  to  this  exist- 
ence, and  endeavored  to  crowd  into  its  narrow  limits  all  the 
enjoyments  which  the  brief  day  of  Hfe  could  furnish.  They 
shrank  from  the  gloomy  Hades,  and  used  their  fleeting  hours 
as  if  they  expected  nothing  beyond.  We  see  this  trait  particu- 
larly in  the  Greeks,  who  hesitated  not  to  avow  their  love  of 
life,  and  their  deep  regret  when  they  felt  that  the  Angel  of 
Death  was  at  hand  and  the  shadow  of  his  wings  rested  on 
them.  The  same  men  who  broke  the  array  of  the  Mede  at 
Marathon,  and  at  Platsea  "jeoparded  their  hves  unto  the  death 
in  the  high  places  of  the  field"  against  the  Persian  force — men 
who  would  have  gladly  sacrificed  every  thing  for  home  or 
country — yet  thought  it  no  shame  to  weep  when  they  were 
called  to  part  from  this  existence  which  they  had  invested 
with  all  that  was  beautiful.  That  stoicism  which  learned  to 
count  life  as  nothing  and  to  despise  death,  was  the  product  of 
later  days  of  philosophy  and  doubt.  The  heroes  of  Homer, 
while  they  fought  terribly,  did  not  think  it  unworthy  of  their 
manhood  to  weep  bitterly,  and  to  deplore  the  coming  of  that 
inexorable  foe  whose  power  no  arm  of  flesh  could  resist.  Life 
to  them  was  precious,  as  a  season  of  enjoyment,  and  they  made 
the  most  of  it.  They  suffered  not  the  thought  of  the  future 
to  sadden,  but  it  seemed  rather  to  exhilarate  and  incite  to 
pleasure. 

We  see,  therefore,  that  their  faith  spread  over  life  a  glad  and 
22 


254  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

joyous  aspect.  It  had  no  features  of  austerity — it  taught  no 
self-denial — it  held  up  no  Cross  to  be  borne — but  was  compre- 
hended in  one  round  of  festivals  and  cheerful  holydays.  In  the 
Calendar  of  the  Greeks,  indeed,  every  thing  was  elevating,  and 
the  worship  of  their  gods  was  entwined  with  the  loftiest  asso- 
ciations. Sometimes  they  celebrated  the  achievements  of  those 
who,  after  "  doing  exploits"  on  earth,  had  departed  to  join  the 
starry  hierarchy  of  Olympus ;  and  sometimes,  at  the  shrines  of 
their  presiding  deities,  they  commemorated  the  changes  of  the 
seasons,  tracing  them  on  from  the  first  bursting  flowers  of 
Spring  to  the  gathering  of  the  vintage  in  the  Autumn,  when 
"  the  showering  grapes 


In  Bacchanal  profusion  reel  to  earth 
Purple  and  gushing." 

They  circled  round  the  altar  with  wild  and  exulting  songs, 
which  stirred  their  hearts  hke  a  trumpet's  sound,  and  every 
strain  was  heard,  from  the  rude  hymn  of  the  peasant  to  the 
solemn  and  lofty  chorus  which  proclaimed  the  deepest  mysteries 
of  their  faith.  There  might  be  seen  the  stately  procession 
which  celebrated  the  triumphs  of  the  Dorian  Apollo,  and 
where  every  thing  was  invested  with  a  splendor  worthy  of  his 
majesty — or  ceremonies  in  which  they  had  preserved  the  re- 
membrance of  the  primal  dynasty  of  gods  and  the  rites  of 
early  creeds — and  then  perhaps  came  the  Dionysiac  revels,  and 
scenes  from  their  own  legendary  mythology — the  story  of  En- 
dymion  as  he  slept  upon  the  mountains,  or  the  wild  adventures 
of  Eros  and  Psyche,  "  the  youngest  born  of  the  Olympians,'* 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  255 

until  they  ended  in  that  union  which  shadowed  forth  the 
attainment  of  the  destiny  for  which  humanity  is  sighing. 
Even  the  stem  Spartans  at  such  times  relaxed  their  austerity, 
and  the  antique  hymns  which  had  come  down  to  them  were 
gradually  softened  into  harmony  and  beauty.  Graceful  and 
stately  indeed  was  the  measure  in  which  the  Laconian  maidens 
moved  in  the  Carytic  dance,  while  one  crowned  with  a  wreath 
of  sedge  stood  motionless  in  the  centre,  bearing  aloft  a  basket 
full  of  flowers,  and  her  young  companions  circled  around  her 
as  if  they  were  twining  a  garland ;  and  majestic  was  the  sword- 
dance  by  which  the  brave  soldiery  roused  their  courage,  as 
they  chanted  the  praises  of  the  noble  dead,  and  amid  the  clash- 
ing of  steel  vowed  to  follow  in  their  footsteps.  And  there 
were  also  festivals  of  a  more  homely  and  jovial  character,  when 
they  celebrated  the  praises  of  Bacchus  as  the  **  Unbinder  of 
galling  cares,"  and  license  was  given  to  sport  and  jest,  and  even 
wild  buffoonery.  Then  they  threw  aside  all  remembrance  of 
the  troubles  of  hfe,  and  arrayed  in  the  skin  and  horns  of  "  the 
vine-browsing  goat,"  they  acted  over  the  legends  they  had  in- 
herited of  the  sports  of  the  faun  and  satyr.  Such  were  the 
scenes  in  that  land  of  sacrifice  and  song,  and  everywhere  there 
seemed  a  joyous  spirit  in  their  faith,  whether  on  the  banks  of 
the  classical  Cephissus,  or  in  the  distant  Macedon  and  Boeotia* 
which  the  Greeks  of  Attica  scarcely  acknowledged  as  a  part  of 
the  Hellenic  nation. 

It  is  curious,  too,  to  Tiotice  the  different  hold  which  this 
%iith  had  upon  different  coujitries,  in  proportion  to  their  ad- 


256  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

vance  in  civilization.  We  see  traces  of  this  in  the  account 
given  of  St.  Paul's  preaching,  and  the  philosophical  inquirer 
can  thus  easily  account  for  the  varied  manner  of  its  reception. 
Their  degree  of  faith  seemed  to  be  in  proportion  to  their  dis- 
tance from  the  centre  of  the  world's  literature  and  refinement. 
For  instance,  when  the  Apostle  came  to  Lystra — an  inland  and 
comparatively  barbarous  district,  into  which  the  Greek  lan- 
guage had  scarcely  penetrated — we  find  that  the  miracle 
wrought  in  the  cure  of  a  cripple  awakened  the  reverend  won- 
der of  the  multitude,  and  they  at  once  concluded  that  Jupiter 
and  Mercury  "had  come  down  to  them  in  the  likeness  of 
men."  Preparations  were  therefore  made  to  sacrifice  to 
these  celestial  visitants,  and  they  were  with  difficulty  withheld 
by  the  earnest  declaration  of  the  Apostle,  that  they  were  only 
*'  men  of  hke  passions  with  themselves."*  Here,  then,  belief 
must  have  been  unimpaired  in  the  fabulous  appearance  of  their 
deities,  and  the  old  poetic  faith  have  existed  in  all  its  original 
force.  But  at  Athens  there  could  have  been  no  such  illusion, 
and  we  doubt  whether  miracles  themselves  would  not  have 
been  set  down  as  the  skilful  deceits  of  some  of  the  usual 
traders  in  human  creduhty.  The  ancient  creed  still  had  its 
influence  over  the  mind,  but  it  was  held  in  a  philosophical 
spirit ;  and  the  cultivated  Grecian,  priding  himself  on  his 
intellectual  advancement,  would  have  ridiculed  the  idea  of 
an  actual  appearance  of  the  gods   of  his  mythology.      He 

*  Acts  xiv.  15. 


PAOAl^  MYTHOLOGY.  257 

believed,  indeed,  in  the  creed  of  his  fathers,  for  it  embodied 
all  his  ideas  of  beauty ;  but  the  discussions  in  which  he  de- 
lighted, and  the  inquiring  tone  he  had  adopted,  developed  a 
spirit  widely  different  from  the  simple-hearted  faith  of  less 
polished  tribes. 

But  all  traces  of  this  religion,  in  whatever  way  held,  were 
to  be  swept  away.  The  followers  of  the  new  faith  were  to 
divorce  themselves  from  all  reverence  for  the  sanctity  of  old 
opinions — they  were  to  uproot  from  their  hearts  all  love  for 
hereditary  rites.  Wrestling  against  the  influence  of  every 
thing  they  had  formerly  cherished,  they  were  not  to  be  stopped 
in  their  path  by  "  the  solemn  plausibilities  of  custom."  Chris- 
tianity proclaimed  against  every  development  of  Paganism  a 
rigid  and  uncompromising  hostihty.  And  we  learn  from  the 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians,  the  extent  to  which  this  was 
carried.  It  entered  into  every  arrangement  of  domestic  life, 
and  the  more  scrupulous  even  entertained  doubts  whether 
meat  purchased  at  public  sale  in  the  market,  but  which  had 
formed  part  of  a  sacrifice,  might  not  be  dangerously  polluting 
to  the  Christian  who  partook  of  it.  This  sensitiveness  induced 
them  to  appeal  to  the  judgment  of  the  Apostle,  and  in  the 
Epistle  he  gives  his  decision  on  this  point.* 

Again — the  faith  which  Christianity  came  to  overthrow  was 
interwoven  with  all  that  was  lofty  in  the  literature  of  the 
ancients.     Uproot  the  former,  and  the  latter  became  at  once 


*  1  Cor.  chap.  viii. 
22* 


258  PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY. 

stripped  of  its  meaning.  Take,  for  instance,  their  tragedies, 
all  founded  on  their  mythology,  and  we  can  see  that  to  theur 
eyes  they  must  have  been  invested  with  a  degree  of  sanctity. 
UnHke  the  Drama  of  modern  times,  which  resorts  to  the  basest 
passions  of  our  nature,  the  spirit  of  their  rehgion  pervaded 
them.  "The  characters  were  demigods  or  heroes;  the  sub- 
jects were  often  the  destinies  of  those  lines  of  the  mighty 
which  had  their  beginning  among  the  eldest  deities.  So  far, 
in  the  development  of  their  plots,  were  the  poets  from  appeal- 
ing to  mere  sensibility,  that  they  scarcely  deigned  to  awaken 
an  anxious  throb,  or  draw  forth  a  human  tear.  In  their  works, 
we  see  the  catastrophe  from  the  beginning,  and  feel  its  influ- 
ence at  every  step,  as  we  advance  majestically  along  the  solemn 
avenue  which  it  closes.  There  is  httle  struggle ;  the  doom  of 
the  heroes  is  fixed  on  high,  arid  they  pass,  in  sublime  compo- 
sure, to  fulfil  their  destiny.  Their  sorrows  are  awful — their 
deaths  religious  sacrifices  to  the  powers  of  Heaven-.  The  glory 
that  plays  about  their  heads  is  the  prognostic  of  their  fate. 
A  consecration  is  shed  over  their  brief  and  sad  career,  which 
takes  away  all  the  ordinary  feelings  of  suffering.  Their  afflic- 
tions are  sacred,  their  passions  inspired  by  the  gods,  their  fates 
prophesied  in  elder  time,  their  deaths  almost  festal.  All  things 
are  tinged  with  sanctity  in  the  Greek  tragedies.  Bodily  pain 
is  made  sublime — destitution  and  wretchedness  are  rendered 
sacred.  All  the  human  figures  are  seen,  sublime  in  attitude, 
and  exquisite  in  finishing ;  while,  in  the  dim  background, 
appear  the  shapes  of  eldest  gods,  and  the  solemn  abstractions 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  259 

of  life,  fearfully  embodied — *  Death  the  skeleton  and  Time  the 
shadow.'  Surely  there  was  something  more  in  all  this,  than  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  sad  realities  of  our  human  existence."* 
Nowhere,  indeed,  do  we  learn  so  much  of  the  true  spirit  of  the 
ancient  faith  as  in  these  productions  of  Grecian  genius.  In  the 
stem  and  lofty  scenes  of  Prometheus,  with  its  dark  allegories 
and  its  lessons  of  a  terrible  fatality — as  we  have  already  re- 
marked— we  trace  the  outline  of  some  older  and  almost 
forgotten  creed  ;  and  in  the  choral  odes  of  Euripides  we  read 
the  doctrines  of  a  faith — the  providence  of  the  Supreme  Ruler, 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  future  state  of  retribution 
— which  was  believed  by  those  who  then  thronged  the  tem- 
ples of  Athens. 

We  can  readily  conceive,  therefore,  how  difficult  it  must 
have  been  for  them  to  sever  their  minds  and  affections  from 
these  old  associations.  In  all  ages  this  literature  has  retained 
its  hold  even  upon  those  who  believed  not  in  the  faith  on  which 
it  was  founded,  and  to  whom  it  offered  no  higher  claim  than 
that  of  mere  poetic  beauty.  When  Julian  the  Apostate  en- 
deavored to  degrade  the  intellect  of  the  Christian  teachers,  he 
closed  against  them  these  storehouses  of  the  past,  and  prohibited 
all  instruction  in  Hellenic  learning.  And  it  was  in  vain  that 
they  endeavored  to  supply  the  want.  A  Christian  Pindar  and 
a  Christian  Homer  were  written,  with  the  sentiments  and  views 
of  the  new  faith  interwoven  with  the  words  of  the  original 

*  Metros.  Review,  v.  i.  p.  12. 


260  PAGAN  JVIYTHOLOGY. 

poets ;  but  the  expedient  was  fruitless.  There  was  too  sad  a 
contrast  between  the  life  and  spirit  of  Homer  and  the  weariness 
of  his  labored  copy.  Christian  thoughts  and  images  would  not 
blend  with  the  language  of  classic  authors,  and  these  parodies 
retained  their  place  no  longer  than  the  student  was  debarred 
from  the  perusal  of  their  great  models.  At  the  death  of  Ju- 
lian, they  were  thrown  aside  even  in  the  Christian  schools ;  and 
in  the  words  of  the  historian  of  that  day — "  The  works  of  these 
men,  [the  two  Apollinares,]  are  now  of  no  greater  importance 
than  if  they  had  never  been  written."* 

How  impressive,  then,  must  they  have  been  to  those  who 
were  from  childhood  devout  believers  in  the  old  mythology  ! 
For  if,  in  these  later  days,  our  poets  are  obliged  to  resort  to 
supernatural  influences  to  give  a  charm  to  their  verse,  summon- 
ing the  fairy  from  the  forest — the  gnome  from  the  mine — and 
the  fiend  from  his  abode  of  darkness — though  no  teaching  of 
our  religion  warrants  the  use  of  such  agency — we  can  imagine 
how  much  higher  must  have  been  the  inspiration  of  the  ancient 
legends  which,  with  those  who  used  them,  were  matters  of  ab- 
solute faith.  It  gave  a  solemn  interest  to  their  theme,  and 
invested  it  with  a  reverence  as  something  half  divine.  It  was 
this  which  endowed  Homer  with  such  power  over  the  minds 
of  his  ancient  hearers.  There  was  something  higher  than  the 
mere  excitement  of  his  stirring  descriptions,  for  he  had  em- 
bodied in  his  verse  those  stories  from  their  mythology  which 

*  Socrates^  Eccles.  Hist.  Ifiii.  ch.  x?<d. 


PAGAN  :aiYTHOLOaY.  261 

to  them  were  more  than  fables.     The  ground  on  which  they 
trod  was  sacred. 

And  so  it  was  at  Rome,  when  the  conquerors  of  the  world 
had  inherited  the  faith  of  the  Greeks,  and  in  another  tongue 
offered  that  worship  whose  true  home  was  on  the  heights  of 
Phyle,  and  among  the  ohve-groves  of  the  Ilyssus.  On  this  her 
historians  based  their  narratives ;  and  when  Livy  collected  the 
ancient  heroic  traditions  which  had  come  down  with  the  bal- 
lads of  the  early  Romans,  and  bequeathed  them  as  veritable 
chronicles  to  later  ages,  we  can  trace  everywhere  the  poetry  of 
their  mythology.  On  this,  too,  Virgil  founded  his  poem,  and 
it  gave  a  new  interest  to  the  distant  Alban  Mount,  that  he 
represented  the  Queen  of  Heaven  as  watching  from  thence  the 
changing  fortimes  of  the  fight,  when  the  Latin  and  Trojan 
armies  were  contending  on  the  plain  below.  Her  orators,  too, 
invoked  the  aid  of  the  gods  when  called  to  address  their  coun- 
trymen, and  the  patriot  appealed  to  them  in  confirmation  of 
the  truth  of  all  he  uttered.  Even  Cicero,  whatever  philosoph- 
ical doubts  he  might  elsewhere  express,  when  pleading  for 
Milo,  turned  to  the  magnificent  temple  of  Jupiter  Latiaris,  in 
full  view  from  the  Forum  where  he  stood,  and  burst  forth  into 
the  eloquent  apostrophe  :  "  Tuque,  ex  tuo  edito  monte,  Latiari- 
ris  Sancte  Jupiter,  cujus  ilia  lacus  nemora  fines  que,"  &c. 
Thus,  the  Hellenic  mythology  became  interwoven  with  all  their 
intellectual  life,  and  there  was  no  department  of  learning  in 
which  its  influence  could  not  be  discerned.  And  yet,  Christian- 
ity aimed  a  blow  at  all  this  lofty  hterature.     By  prostrating 


262  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

the  faith  on  which  it  was  built  up,  it  stripped  the  labors  of  the 
poet  of  all  their  sanctity,  and  instead  of  a  religious  lesson,  re- 
duced them  to  fictions  of  the  imagination. 

Again — another  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  new  faith  was, 
that  at  Rome  Paganism  was  supported  by  the  whole  power  of 
the  state.  "  It  was  a  state  religion,  guarded  and  fought  for 
by  the  armed  strength  of  the  most  powerful  government  of  the 
greatest  of  all  empires.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
owed  their  daily  bread  to  their  connection  with  that  rehgion. 
Millions  on  milHons  had  identified  it  with  all  their  conceptions 
of  life,  of  enjoyment,  and  of  that  obscure  hope  in  which  the 
heathen  saw  a  life  to  come.     The  noble  families  of  Rome  owed 

to  it  a  large  portion  of  their  rank  and  influence There  is 

indeed  no  instance  on  record  of  a  religion  so  strongly  imbedded 
in  the  passions,  prospects,  and  general  influence  of  a  govern- 
ment and  nobility.  The  connection  between  the  Church  and 
State  was  at  once  of  the  most  extensive  and  the  most  intimate 

nature The  Emperor  himself  was  the  High  Priest 

The  noble  might  be  a  priest,  without  relinquishing  the  sternest 
prizes  of  ambition.  He  might  on  one  day  lead  the  procession 
to  the  temple  of  Jove  as  a  pontifi",  and  on  the  next  as  a  consul 
and  conqueror.  Emolument,  influence,  the  sanctity  attached 
to  the  official  rank,  all  bound  the  nobles  to  the  Pagan  estab- 
lishment. There  was  no  worldly  penalty  to  repel  the  union. 
The  ensigns  of  poHtical  power  were  not  to  be  laid  down  by  the 
hand  that  took  up  the  Augural  staff":  the  armor  might  be 
worn  under  the  sacrificial  robe.     The  bloodshed  of  civil  war — 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  263 


the  ambition  which  usurped  the  state — even  the  deepest  ex- 
cesses of  the  luxury  of  Rome,  were  not  incompatible  with  the 
etercise  of  the  priesthood,  by  the  long  succession  of  fierce 
rivals  to  the  throne.  The  rank  of  the  Chief  Pontiff  was  for 
life,  and  his  power  was  worthy  of  all  but  Imperial  envy.  He 
commanded  the  whole  religious  ministry.  So,  too,  the  ap- 
parent trifling  of  the  Augurs  included  the  material  of  great 
public  power.  The  Augur  hostile  to  the  newly-elected  Consul 
could  drive  him  from  the  ivory  chair,  by  the  simple  declaration 
that  the  heavens  were  unpropitious.*  This  formidable  in- 
fluence rendered  a  seat  in  the  College  of  Augurs  of  the  great- 
est importance  to  all  who  contemplated  the  high  offices  of  the 
state Thus  the  priesthood  of  ancient  Rome  was  cement- 
ed into  the  state.  The  nobiUty,  instead  of  looking  with  envy 
at  its  wealth — with  contempt  at  its  pacific  pursuits— or  with 
hostility  at  its  power — felt  an  interest  in  the  security  of  the 
great  Hierarchy,  in  whose  honors  they  were  to  possess  the 
principal  share,  and  in  whose  strength  was  to  consist  so  large  a 
portion  of  their  own.  It  was  a  gigantic  growth  of  pohcy  and 
power,  rooted  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Roman  constitution — 
shooting  its  fibres  through  every  corner  of  the  Empire — and 
towering  to  a  height  and  expansion  beneath  which  all  other 
idolatries  were  at  once  sheltered  and  thrown  into  eclipse,  "f 
From  this  mighty  system,  which  had  thus  gathered,  into 


*  Plutarch  in  Marcello. 

f  Altered  from  Groly  on  the  Apocalypse,  pp.  210,  218,  216. 


264  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

itself  every  hope  and  interest,  Christianity  alone  stood  apart 
as  something  distinct  and  separate.  It  had  no  sympathy  with 
this  proud  monument  of  Roman  greatness.  The  new  converts 
seemed  to  merge  their  interest  in  whatever  was  national,  in 
that  bond  of  brotherhood  which  bound  them  to  their  fellow- 
believers  over  the  whole  earth.  They  even  held  lightly  the 
ties  which  united  to  family  and  country,  and  their  gloomy  and 
austere  aspect  rendered  them  everywhere  different  from  the 
rest  of  mankind.  Against  that  Paganism  which  was  the  life 
of  the  Empire,  they  avowed  the  most  relentless  hostility. 
And  these  separate  societies  were  springing  up  in  all  parts  of 
its  widely-extended  dominion — obeying  their  own  rulers,  gov- 
erned by  their  own  code  of  laws — and  renouncing  all  obedience 
to  Rome,  where  the  Imperial  edicts  conflicted  with  the  regu- 
lations of  that  new  system  which  they  had  adopted.  And  this 
fraternity  was  banded  together  by  the  closest  interests,  exhib- 
iting an  unbroken  front,  which  alone  constituted  strength.  It 
was  a  mighty  army,  which  "  covered  the  face  of  the  whole 
earth."  It  spread  through  every  rank  of  society,  winning  its 
proselytes  among  both  high  and  low.  It  included  all,  from 
the  inmate  of  Caesar's  palace  to  the  captive  in  the  dungeon. 
Persecution  could  not  turn  them  from  their  behef,  but  they 
were  gifted  with  principles  whose  steadfastness  faltered  not  in 
view  of  the  fire  and  the  stake.  Is  it  wonderful,  therefore,  that 
the  adherents  of  the  old  faith  looked  upon  this  wide-spread 
fellowship  with  suspicion  and  distrust  ? 

There  had,  indeed,  always  been  a  feeling  in  the  Roman  mind 


PAGAIS^  MYTHOLOGY.  265 

which  connected  the  permanency  of  his  country's  glory  with 
the  preservation  of  its  religion.  He  looked  upon  this  as  a 
pledge  of  safety  to  the  Empire,  and  old  tradition  had  impressed 
the  lesson,  that  when  faith  decayed  the  day  of  Roman  domin- 
ion would  pass  away  forever.  For  ages  the  god  Terminus, 
whose  altar  never  receded,  might  be  regarded  as  the  tutelary 
deity  of  Rome — ^her  ambition  deified  and  brought  visibly  be- 
ore  the  people.  The  religious  Calendar,  too — a  half-year  of 
which  has  been  preserved  in  the  Fasti  of  Ovid — ^remains  a 
record  of  the  manner  in  which  the  services  of  rehgion  were 
made  to  advance  political  ends.  It  is  not  intended  to  bring 
before  the  minds  of  the  worshippers  those  solemn  events  which 
concern  their  spuritual  interests,  for  but  a  single  ceremonial 
only  is  devoted  to  the  doctrine  of  another  life',  but  it  seems  in- 
tended to  minister  to  Roman  pride — mingling  with  the  ancient 
legends  of  Greece,  a  commemoration  of  the  old  heroic  deeds  in 
then*  early  day,  when  the  state  was  sti-uggling  for  existence, 
or  else  some  act  of  the  reigning  family,  which  was  thus  em- 
balmed for  posterity.  And  around  them  in  the  city  were 
countless  temples,  many  of  which  were  votive  offerings  for 
national  deliverances.  Above  the  Capitol  itself  towered  in 
majesty  fifty  shrines  or  temples,  the  very  names  of  which — 
Janus,  Romulus,  Caesar,  and  Victory — reminded  the  dweller 
there  of  something  in  the  annals  of  his  land,  while  to  many  of 
them  ages  of  glory  had  attached  a  sanctity  which  associated 
them  with  all  he  reverenced  in  the  majesty  of  Rome.  Con- 
nected, therefore,  as  their  faith  was  with  all  in  which  they  felt 

23 


266  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

a  pride,  from  the  stern  days  of  the  republic  down  to  the 
splendors  of  the  Imperial  sway,  they  contended  for  it  on  ac- 
count of  their  veneration — 

"  For  the  ashes  of  their  fathers 
And  the  temples  of  their  gods," 

And  we  trace  this  feehng  through  all  the  ages  of  the  conflict 
between  our  faith  and  Paganism,  until  the  final  triumph  of 
Christianity  over  the  pride  and  power  of  its  foe.  The  Romans 
ever  clung  to  the  remembrance  of  older  and  more  glorious 
times ;  and  when,  therefore,  the  horizon  darkened  and  clouds 
began  to  lower,  they  naturally  turned  to  the  neglect  of  their 
ancient  faith  as  the  cause  of  these  impending  evils.  The  gods, 
through  whose  protection  they  had  grown  to  power,  had  been 
estranged,  and  the  forsaken  city  was  now  to  reap  the  reward 
of  its  ingratitude.  They  beheld  around  them  deserted  temples, 
and  altars  on  which  the  fire  of  sacrifice  was  extinguished,  and 
to  this  they  ascribed  the  crisis  of  terror  and  calamity  which 
had  overtaken  them.  As,  therefore,  the  Christian  faith  ad- 
vanced, and  each  year  beheld  greater  multitudes  estranged 
from  their  ancient  worship,  and  avowing  their  contempt  for  the 
rites  of  their  fathers,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  feeling  also  gath- 
ered strength  that  the  progress  of  the  new  religion  and  the 
downfall  of  Roman  glory  were  linked  together.  They,  of 
course,  could  not  comprehend  the  nature  of  Christ's  spiritual 
kingdom,  and  listened  with  a  vague  fear  to  prophecies  half  un- 
derstood, which  set  forth  the  future  triumph  of  His  cause. 
They  heard  of  the  e^tabhshment  of  His  throne  on  earth,  and 


PAGAISr  MYTHOLOGY.  267 

they  expected  it  to  be  visibly  erected,  while  the  glory  of  the 
Empire  should  fade  away  before  it.  And  perhaps  the  very 
tone  adopted  by  the  Christian  writers  increased  this  apprehen- 
sion. It  was  with  unsparing  severity  that  they  denounced  the 
popular  idolatry,  and  uttered  their  threats  against  that  gigantic 
power  which  was  then  overshadowing  the  earth.  Rome  was 
to  them  the  prophetical  Babylon  of  the  Apocalypse,  and  when 
the  heathen  tyrannized,  they  muttered  predictions  of  the 
plagues  which  were  to  overtake  her,  and  the  fearful  ruin  which 
was  at  hand.  They  felt,  therefore,  no  sympathy  for  her  mis- 
fortunes, and  from  the  lips  of  the  more  fanatical  or  the  un- 
guarded, expressions  of  triumph  may  have  burst,  as  they 
recognised  in  these  tribulations  the  hand  of  the  Son  of  Man 
taking  vengeance  on  tlieir  persecutors. 

When,  therefore,  the  last  days  of  the  Imperial  City  drew 
nigh,  and  her  enemies  gathered  more  closely  around  her,  su- 
perstition awoke,  and  crowds,  in  the  agony  of  their  fear,  rushed 
once  more  to  the  long- deserted  shrines.  As  the  aspect  of  the 
times  grew  more  dark,  they  looked  around  for  some  victims  to 
propitiate  the  offended  gods,  and  who  could  they  select  but 
those  apostates  from  their  worship,  whose  blood  must  now  re- 
pair the  evil  and  avert  the  indignation  of  the  deities  they  had 
estranged  ?  These  were  the  days  of  martyrdom,  when  the 
Christian  host  was  called  to  furnish  its  sacrifices  to  the  flames, 
as  often  as  the  multitude  in  frantic  terror  wished  to  show  their 
devotion  to  their  national  gods.  The  superstitious,  who  really 
believed  in  the  deities  whose  shrines  were  around  them — the 


268  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

patriotic,  who  looked  to  the  past  with  passionate  regret,  and 
grasped  at  any  thing  which  thej  vainly  supposed  would  restore 
the  ancient  glory  of  the  Empire — and  the  countless  thousands, 
whose  taste  for  blood,  maddened  in  the  amphitheatre,  made 
them  eagerly  welcome  any  victims — all  were  ready  to  unite  in 
the  cry — "  To  the  wild  beasts  with  the  despisers  of  the  gods  !" 
And  so  it  continued  until  in  the  fifth  century  the  long  agony 
was  closed  by  the  capture  of  Rome  by  the  Goths.  In  this  day 
we  can  scarcely  conceive  of  the  shock  which  this  event  gave  to 
the  whole  civilized  world.  It  was  striking  a  blow  at  its  very 
heart,  and  all  who  bore  the  Roman  name,  even  in  the  most 
distant  provinces,  started  up  wildly,  as  if  some  dream  of  secu- 
rity had  been  rudely  broken.  It  was  a  disastrous  consumma- 
tion to  which  they  appear  jiever  to  have  looked  forward. 
When  barbarians  broke  through  the  frontier,  and  province  after 
province  fell  before  them,  they  still  seemed  never  to  imagine 
that  the  torrent  could  overwhelm  the  Imperial  City.  Rome 
to  them  was  invested  with  a  shadowy  power,  as  the  inheritance 
of  long  ages  of  glory — a  mysterious  existence  with  which  they 
had  identified  the  life  of  the  Empire.  But  now  these  illusions 
were  suddenly  dispelled,  and  she  had  ceased  to  be  the  Mistress 
of  the  world.  And  thus  was  deepened  and  confirmed  the  feel- 
ing which  ascribed  this  destruction  to  the  loss  of  the  ancient 
faith  under  which  they  had  once  expanded  into  greatness,  and 
everywhere  among  the  scattered  exiles  murmurs  of  indignation 
were  heard  against  the  rehgion  which  had  wrought  this  aliena- 
tion of  their  gods. 


PAGAlSr  IHYTHOLOaY.  269 

Then  it  was  that  St.  Augustine  came  forward,  and  in  his 
great  work,  "  The  City  of  God,"  replied  to  these  impeach- 
ments, and  silenced  the  arguments  against  the  new  faith.  With 
a  masterly  hand  he  sketched  the  influence  of  ancient  heathen- 
ism, and  arraying  before  his  readers  its  vices  and  superstition, 
uttered  his  loud  gratulation  that  its  day  was  over,  and  vrith  the 
fall  of  the  mystic  Babylon  tl»  reign  of  idolatry  had  passed 
away  forever.  And  then,  with  the  glowing  imagination  which 
characterized  the  African  mind,  he  portrayed  the  true  "  City 
of  God"  which  was  to  rise  upon  its  ruins,  and  become  the 
reality  of  what  that  had  only  been  the  type  and  shadow.  It 
was  to  be  a  new  dynasty,  without  limit  and  without  end — the 
realization  of  the  prophet's  dream — the  Empire  of  Empires. 
Thus  before  his  eyes  floated  the  glorious  vision  which  after 
ages  were  to  see  embodied  in  the  Church  of  Christ,  as  it  went 
on  to  fulfil  its  lofty  destiny,  spreading  peace  and  pm*ity  through 
this  world,  and  becoming  in  the  next,  the  City  of  the  Children 
of  the  Resurrection.  This  was  his  solemn  requiem  over  the 
dying  throes  of  Paganism. 

We  have  thus  seen  the  difficulties  there  were  in  preaching  the 
Gospel  at  Rome — ^how  stupendous  the  system  to  be  over- 
thrown, sustained,  as  it  was,  by  old  hereditary  reverence — en- 
twined with  every  action  of  daily  life-^nd  guarded  by  a  wide- 
spread hierarchy,  and  the  power  of  the  most  powerful  Empire 
which  ever  existed.  Yet  this  mighty  fabric  was  smitten  to  the 
dust.    The  antagonist,  who  once  threatened  to  crush  the  rising 

faith,  became  a  captive,  bound  to  the  chariot-wheels  of  its 

23* 


270  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

triumphant  conqueror.  Rome,  it  is  true,  was  purple  with  the 
blood  of  martyrs,  and  three  hundred  years  of  suffering  were  to 
be  endured;  yet  the  price  was  paid  and  the  end  attained.  It 
was  only  step  by  step  that  the  victory  was  won,  and  it  is  a  singu- 
lar fact,  that  Paganism  is  the  only  religion  whose  gradual  decay 
has  been  chronicled,  so  that  we  are  now  able  to  trace  its  pro- 
gress, from  the  palmy  days  of^its  power,  to  its  last  expiring 
struggle.  Other  systems  have  passed  away,  and,  from  the  ad- 
vance of  civilization  or  the  changes  which  were  going  on  in  the 
world,  lost  their  influence  over  their  votaries.  We  know  that 
they  once  existed,  but  the  human  mind  began  at  last  to  tire  of 
their  superstitions,  or  they  were  only  adapted  to  the  days  of 
its  childhood,  and  it  therefore  outgrew  them.  Thus  they 
faded  from  the  earth,  and  looking  back  to  the  dim  ages  of  the 
past,  we  see  that  they  have  gone.  But  this  is  all  we  know. 
We  are  unacquainted  with  the  interests  and  passions  which 
struggled  in  their  favor,  or  how  they  were  repressed.  We  are 
ignorant  of  the  successive  stages  of  then*  progress,  as  they 
waned  into  extinction,  or  at  what  precise  time  their  dissolution 
took  place.  History  has  condescended  to  assist  at  the  funeral 
of  Paganism  alone.* 

It  was  at  Rome  that  this  battle  was  chiefly  fought,  because 
there  it  was  in  eye  of  tile  whole  world — an  arena,  as  it  were, 
surrounded  by  countless  millions.     There  the  Pagan  interest 


*  Histoire  de  la  Destruction  du  Paganisme  en   Occident.     Par  A. 
£eiignot,  t.  L  p.  2. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  271 

rallied  its  strength,  and  ojQTered  the  only  long-protracted  re- 
sistance. In  the  East,  it  was  often  a  war  of  intellect,  in  which 
sophists  wrangled  for  systems,  which  really  had  but  little  hold 
upon  their  aflfections ;  and  at  Athens,  was  a  philosophy  which 
had  already  enfeebled  their  attachment  to  the  ancient  faith. 
In  Rome  alone  was  the  seat  of  its  power,  and  there  its  strength 
was  concentrated,  and  a  jealous  power  watched  around  its  de- 
parting energies  till  the  struggle  was  closed  in  its  extinction. 
The  Church,  in  the  Imperial  City,  was  founded  long  before  St. 
Paul  wrote  his  Epistle,  for  it  is  addressed  to  those  who  are 
already  established  in  the  faith,  and  the  visit  he  proposed  was 
merely  to  take  them  on  his  way  to  Spain.*  It  had  grown  up 
unmarked,  under  teachers  whose  names  are  now  lost  to  us. 
In  the  days  of  Nero,  the  Roman  Christians  had  already  out- 
grown all  feehngs  of  contempt,  and  become  formidable  in  the 
eyes  of  the  ruling  power,  or  they  would  not  have  awakened 
so  fully  the  indignation  of  the  people,  or  been  selected  as  the 
victuns  of  persecution.  In  a  time  of  general  distress,  when 
the  flames  had  desolated  the  city,  and  popular  fury  sought 
some  object  on  which  to  expend  itself,  no  small  and  obscure 
sect  would  have  been  a  sufficient  or  acceptable  offering.  And 
thus,  gathering  strength  in  the  home  of  Paganism,  the  leaven 
gradually  spread  through  the  whole  Empire ;  and  while  men 
woke  and  slept,  and  ambition  ran  its  career,  and  none  thought 
of  the  mighty  influence  which  was  growing  up  among  them, 

*  Rom.  XV.  24. 


272  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

the  new  faith  was  laying  broadly  its  foundations,  and  under- 
mining the  lofty  temple  of  heathenism. 

For  the  first  century,  the  outward  face  of  society  seemed 
unchanged.  The  temples  and  shrines,  undiminished  in  number, 
were  still  open  to  their  worshippers,  and  the  services  went  on 
us  usual.  It  was  long  even  before  the  decreasing  attendance 
'  t  the  games  and  festivals  could  be  noticed ;  or  the  heathen 
priests  began  to  murmur  at  the  waning  devotion  of  the  age, 
and  at  the  scantier  offerings  which  rewarded  their  ministry, 
it  was  far  beneath  the  surface  that  the  change  was  going  on — 
in  silence  and  secrecy  the  Christian  faith  was  maturing  its 
strength,  before  it  came  forth  publicly  to  claim  the  dominion 
of  the  earth.  Its  proselytes  dwelt  apart  by  themselves — "  a 
peculiar  people" — and  it  was  only  by  their  rigid  seclusion,  and 
their  sullen  absence  from  the  popular  amusements,  that  their 
neighbors  knew  they  had  become  believers  in  the  new  and  un- 
social creed.  They  alone  abstained  from  the  games  and  the 
amphitheatre,  partly  on  account  of  the  sanguinary  character 
or  licentious  tendency  of  some  of  the  exhibitions,  and  partly 
because  they  were  all  founded  on  some  fables  of  the  old  my- 
thology— ^were  often  performed  in  honor  of  particular  deities — 
and  had  the  temples  themselves  been  closed,  would  have  pre- 
served alive,  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  a  remembrance  of 
their  ancient  faith.  But  the  Christians  knew  that  the  hour  of 
their  triumph  was  at  hand,  and  they  were  willing  to  bide  their 
time.  They  were  confident  that  each  year  would  find  the 
courts  of  the  heathen  temples  trodden  by  fewer  worshippers. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  273 

till  silence  reigned  where  once  thronging  multitudes  were 
seen — the  daily  sacrifice  cease — and  the  air  be  no  longer  pol- 
luted by  the  smoke  of  victims,  where  formerly  hecatombs  were 
offered.  And  so  it  proved  :  and  before  the  last  of  those  who 
had  seen  their  Lord  in  the  flesh  had  sunk  to  his  rest,  throngs 
passed  the  deserted  porticoes  of  the  temple  on  then-  way  to 
the  secret  worship  of  the  Christians. 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  Trajan,  that  Christianity  in  the  prov- 
inces seems  first  to  have  expanded  from  its  safe  obscurity  to 
a  prominence — proof,  indeed,  of  its  growth,  yet  dangerous  to 
its  followers.  The  former  persecutions  had  been  confined  to 
the  Imperial  City,  or  else  were  mere  local  outbreaks  of  popu- 
lar fury.  But  now,  at  length,  a  cry  of  distress  is  heard — 
complaints  are  made  of  diminished  sacrifices  and  deserted  tem- 
ples— and  the  strength  of  the  civil  power  is  invoked  to  sustain 
the  failing  energies  of  Paganism.  We  see  this  in  the  memo- 
rable correspondence  between  Pliny  and  the  Emperor.  Yet 
still  no  general  edict  condemned  the  Christians  to  punishment. 
And  so  it  was  through  the  reign- of  Hadrian,  who  seems  to 
have  tampered  with  all  religions,  and  cared  for  none.  At  one 
time  avowing  the  principles  of  a  stem  philosophy,  and  then,  in 
his  luxurious  villa,  whose  massive  ruins  near,  the  Alban  hills, 
even  now  excite  the  wonder  of  the  traveller,  giving  way  to  all 
the  pleasures  of  an  Epicurean — at  Rome,  the  upholder  of  the 
national  faith — in  the  East,  an  inquirer  into  the  secrets  of 
magic,  and  an  initiated  votary  of  the  Eleusinian  mysteries — 
and  even  receiving,  without  mark  of  disapprobation,  the  works 


274  PAGAK  MYTHOLOGY. 


of  the  Christian  Apologists — his  reign  was  characterized  by  a 
general  toleration,  which  gave  a  breathing  time  to  the  rising 
faith,  and  enabled  it  to  present  its  arguments  where  formerly 
its  voice  was  never  heard.  And  the  effect  of  this  was  seen 
under  the  mild  and  parental  reign  of  his  successor,  Antoninus 
Pius,  in  the  loftier  tone  assumed  by  the  Apologists  of  Christi- 
anity, and  the  boldness  with  which  they  preferred  their  claim 
to  supremacy  over  the  human  mind,  in  opposition  to  the  old 
and  still  dominant  faith. 

But  this  truce  could  not  last.  Christianity  was  rapidly  grow- 
ing into  a  rival  power,  and  assuming  a  stand  which  naturally 
arrayed  against  it  the  jealousy  and  hatred  of  Paganism.  It 
was  becoming  a  foe  not  to  be  despised,  and  the  heathen  power 
seems  at  last  to  have  awakened  to  a  consciousness  that  the 
struggle  on  which  it  was  entering  was  one  for  life  or  death — 
that  the  faith  on  which  it  had  always  looked  down  must  now 
be  crushed,  or  it  would  uproot  their  ancient  and  time-honored 
system.  In  the  reign,  therefore,  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  the  Phi- 
losopher, we  witness  the  first  general  persecution  of  our  reli- 
gion. Those  under  Nero  and  Domitian,  as  we  before  re- 
marked, did  not  extend  beyond  the  City  of  Rome,  and  that 
under  Trajan  was  confined  to  a  particular  province.  But  now 
edicts  were  to  go  forth,  through  the  whole  wide-spread  Empire, 
to  vindicate  the  insulted  majesty  of  the  ancient  faith,  and  to 
authorize  everywhere  the  cry  which  the  multitude  were  so 
ready  to  raise,  "  Away  with  the  godless !"  Perhaps,  we 
should  have  looked  for   a   different   result   from  the  liberal 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY.  2^5 

studies  and  philosophical  mind  of  the  Emperor.  We  might 
rather  have  expected  that  he  would  have  regarded  with  con- 
temptuous indifference,  these  aberrations  from  the  prevailing 
belief.  But  there  were  other  causes  at  work  to  influence  his 
conduct.  The  very  position  which  Christianity  had  assumed 
may  have  produced  alarm.  Its  gathering  thousands,  to  be 
found  everywhere,  in  the  city  and  the  camp — the  increasing 
opulence  and  power  of  its  members — and  the  bold  and  lofty 
tone  in  which  they  arraigned  the  popular  idolatry — ^may  have 
startled  even  the  occupant  of  the  throne  with  the  idea,  that  a 
dangerous  enemy  was  rising  up.  Its  voice  could  not  but  reach 
even  to  Caesar's  palace,  for  it  was  rapidly  creating  a  Uterature 
of  its  own  ;  and  while,  in  the  West,  Irenseus,  Bishop  of  Lyons, 
attacked  the  errors  which  were  prevalent  among  the  Orientals, 
on  the  shores  of  Africa  the  fiery  Tertullian  hurled  his  defiance, 
not  unmingled  with  scorn,  at  their  ancient  Pagan  foes.  Per- 
haps, too,  the  pride  of  authorship  may  have  had  some  influence, 
for  the  Emperor  himself  had  advocated  before  the  world  the 
doctrines  of  the  Porch,  and,  instead  of  the  respectful  deference 
for  which  he  looked,  found  his  arguments  were  treated  with 
contempt  by  men,  who,  unable  to  appreciate  the  elegance  of  the 
Greek  in  which  they  were  written,  denounced  the  entire  sys- 
tem as  "  the  doctrines  of  devils."  But,  more  than  all,  was  the 
influence  of  those  troubles,  to  which  we  have  before  alluded, 
as  gathering  around  the  falUng  Empire.  There  were  "  wars 
and  rumors  of  wars,  famines  and  pestilences,  and  earthquakes 
in  divers  places ;  upon  the  earth  distress  of  nations,  with  per- 


276  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 


plexity,  men's  hearts  failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  looking  after 
those  things  which  were  coming  on  the  earth."  The  Emperor 
himself  was  obliged  to  leave  his  Lanuvian  villa  and  the  quiet 
studies  of  philosophy,  and  in  the  field  of  battle,  on  the  distant 
Danube,  contend  for  the  honor  of  his  tottering  throne,  with 
the  rude  and  barbarous  foe  which  poured  like  a  torrent  from 
the  North.  It  is  not  strange,  then,  when  popular  fury  loudly 
demanded  the  punishment  of  the  Christians,  and  the  priest- 
hood promised,  with  returning  reverence  for  the  forsaken  gods, 
there  should  also  be  a  return  of  the  golden  days,  that  the  phi- 
losophy of  the  Emperor  gave  way,  and  he  yielded  to  that 
superstition  from  which  even  the  most  skeptical  can  never  free 
themselves. 

Then  came  the  edict  which  surrendered  up  the  Christians  tc 
the  violence  of  their  enemies,  and  that  persecution  arose  which 
has  given  to  the  annals  of  the  Church  its  brightest  examples  of 
lofty  heroism  and  unfaltering  faith.  Then  died  at  Rome,  Jus- 
tin, the  eloquent  apologist  of  Christianity — at  Smyrna,  the 
aged  Polycarp,  whose  martyrdom  furnishes  one  of  the  most 
striking  narratives  in  Christian  history — and  in  the  West,  ''the 
martyrs  of  Vienne,"  when  the  rage  of  the  adversaries,  foiled 
by  a  courage  stronger  than  death,  vented  itself  on  the  mangled 
remains  of  their  victims,  which  were  flung  into  the  Rhone,  in 
mockery  of  their  hopes  of  a  future  resurrection. 

But  the  palmy  days  of  Rome  had  now  passed  away,  and 
during  the  disastrous  period  between  the  death  of  the  last  An- 
tonine  and  the  accession  of  Diocletian,  the  clouds  which  had 


PAGA]S^  MYTHOLOGY.  277 

overspread  the  Empire  gathered  more  darkly  around.  While 
without,  the  barbarians  were  pressing  on  the  provinces,  and 
each  year  narrowing  the  circle  which  separated  them  from  the 
Imperial  City — within,  the  throne  was  seized  by  a  rapid  suc- 
cession of  rivals,  often  foreigners  from  Africa  and  Thrace,  and 
the  people  were  the  unresisting  victims  of  their  imbecility  and 
vice.  The  short  reign  of  Alexander  Severus  could  not  atone 
for  the  miseries  inflicted  by  the  brutal  Commodus,  the  effemi- 
nate Elagabalus,  or  the  savage  Maximin.  Yet,  during  all  this 
time  the  faith  steadily  advanced ;  and  it  is  probable,  indeed, 
that  the  sufferings  which  on  every  side  pressed  upon  the  peo- 
ple, accelerated  its  progress.  Men  looked  around  for  some- 
thing to  compensate  them  for  the  inevitable  troubles  of  Ufe, 
and  with  nothing  to  hope  for  in  this  world,  they  eagerly 
grasped  at  those  joys  of  the  next  which  the  faith  held  out  to 
them.  The  insult,  too,  which  Elagabalus  offered  to  the  ancient 
religion,  must  have  still  further  broken  down  all  reverence  in 
the  minds  of  men,  and  aided  to  undermine  the  already  tottering 
edifice  of  Paganism.  A  Syrian  by  birth,  and  at  one  time  a 
priest  of  the  Sun,  he  introduced  into  Rome  those  ancient  rites 
of  Baalpeor  which  once  excited  the  horror  of  the  Jews.  The 
nuptials  of  this  deity  with  Astarte,  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  were 
celebrated  with  bridal  festivity,  and  the  trembling  senators  were 
forced  to  follow  in  the  Emperor's  train,  wliile  he  danced  with 
frantic  gestures  before  the  car  of  the  god.*     Every  lingering 


*  Oihhon,  chap,  vl 
24 


278  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

feeling  of  Roman  decency  was  outraged  by  the  foreign  licen- 
tious rites  thus  forced  upon  them,  while  it  made  the  purer 
morals  of  Christianity  stand  forth  with  a  contrast  which  must 
have  awakened  the  attention  of  many  who  before  had  been  in- 
different. The  simple  faith  of  the  Nazarenes  must  have  fur- 
nished a  welcome  refuge  to  those  who  were  revolted  by  the 
degrading  sensuality  of  the  East.* 

The  last  public  conflict  between  Christianity  and  Paganism 
was  now  to  take  place — the  last  at  least  which  deserves  the 
name — when  for  a  series  of  years  the  whole  strength  of  the 
civil  power  was  vigorously  exerted  to  suppress  the  faith,  and 
to  quench  it  in  the  blood  of  its  martyrs.  But  the  growth  of 
three  hundred  years  had  gifted  it  with  a  might  which  no 
human  power  could  crush.  It  was  prepared,  therefore,  to 
meet  once  more  the  ancient  Polytheism,  even  though  it  had 
lately  leagued  itself  with  the  party  of  the  Platonic  Philosophy, 
and  to  engage  in  a  contest  which  was  to  be  final  in  its  issue. 
Thus  stood  the  contending  parties  when  the  fatal  crisis  came. 
After  long  hesitation  Diocletian  issued  his  edict,  commanding 
all  churches  of  the  Christians  to  be  levelled  with  the  ground. 


*  We  learn  from  a  passage  in  Eusebius,  the  strength  of  the  Church  in 
the  city  of  Kome  at  this  time.  He  speaks  of  one  bishop,  forty-six  pres- 
byters, seven  deacons,  seven  sub-deacons,  forty-two  acoluthi,  (clerks,) 
exorcists,  readers,  and  janitors — in  all,  fifty-two ;  widows,  with  the  afflict- 
ed and  needy,  supported  by  the  Church,  more  than  fifteen  himdred  And 
in  the  next  sentence,  he  refers  to  the  laity  as  "  the  innmnerable  multi- 
tude of  the  people." — Ecclen.  Hist.  lib.  vi.  ch.  43. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  2T9 

and  aiming  at  the  annihilation  of  the  hostile  faith  through  the 
whole  Empire.  In  every  part  of  the  world  death  awaited 
those  who  dared  to  profess  their  reverence  for  the  Cross — one 
rescript  after  another  was  published,  each  more  barbarous  than 
the  last — and  everywhere  the  faithful  found  themselves  com- 
mitted to  desperate  strife  with  those  who  sought  their  utter 
extermination.  And  if  at  any  time  the  Emperor  seemed  in- 
clined to  relent,  his  associate  Galerius  was  ready  to  infuse 
suspicions  into  his  mind,  and  to  madden  it  with  the  hostihty 
which  inflamed  his  own.  But  all  was  in  vain.  The  prisons 
were  filled — the  mines  were  crowded  with  their  victims — 
thousands  died  in  the  flames  and  at  the  stake — ^new  torments 
were  invented  to  gratify  the  rage  of  their  enemies — and  yet, 
when  six  years  of  persecution  had  passed,  the  vigor  of  Chris- 
tianity seemed  undiminished,  and  thousands  more  were  ever 
ready  to  press  forward  in  place  of  those  who  had  died. 

But  the  hour  of  triumph  was  at  hand,  and  the  victory  of 
Christianity  was  not  to  be  that  of  unbending  endurance  alone. 
Galerius  was  smitten  with  a  deadly  disease,  and  in  the  agonies 
of  his  repentance  turned  to  the  faith  he  had  persecuted.  From 
his  dying  bed  he  issued  an  edict  repealing  the  severe  statutes 
against  Christianity — permitting  to  its  adherents  the  free  exer- 
cise of  their  religion — and  even  urging  them  to  intercede  for 
him  in  their  supplications  to  their  God.  Thus  it  was  that  Pa- 
ganism was  forced  to  acknowledge  its  defeat,  when  the  confes- 
sion wrung  from  the  dying  Emperor  was  published  to  the  world. 
Christianity  came  forth  once  more  from  its  retreat — in  its  reno- 


280  PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY. 


vated  temples  the  anthems  of  praise  were  heard  from  countless 
thousands  who  had  maintained  their  faith — and  from  the  per- 
secution of  Diocletian  the  Church  inherited  some  of  her  noblest 
examples  of  martyrdom  to  animate  the  courage  of  all  succeed- 
ing ages. 

A  few  years  later,  and  the  Emperor  Constantine  professed 
the  faith,  and  appeared  before  the  world  as  the  head  of  that 
religion  against  which  his  predecessors  had  been  arrayed. 
Then  came  one  decree  after  another,  smiting  the  ancient  hea- 
thenism— closing  its  temples — depriving  its  priesthood  of  their 
honors — till  it  gradually  lost  its  influence  over  the  public  mind. 
The  Empire  naturally  followed  by  degrees  the  example  of  its 
Imperial  ruler,  and  thus  the  once  despised  Cross  became  a 
badge  of  honor  and  glory.  But  among  all  the  acts  of  Con- 
stantine, the  most  fatal  to  the  ancient  religion  was  his  removal 
of  the  seat  of  Empire  to  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus.  Amid 
the  venerable  temples  of  Rome,  heathenism  must  have  lingered 
on  for  ages,  for  these  scenes  were  connected  with  all  the  glories 
of  the  past,  and  here  were  performed  those  solemn  pomps  in 
which  were  blended  the  fables  of  the  old  mythology  and  the 
historical  recollections  of  their  city's  nobler  days.  It  seemed, 
therefore,  the  home  of  their  national  gods — gifted  with  an  he- 
reditary sanctity — and  a  latent  superstition  would  have  rested 
in  the  minds  even  of  those  who  believed  not  in  their  divinity. 
Here  Christianity  could  not  stand  forth  prominent,  or  the  mod- 
est churches,  hid  in  the  Transteverine  region,  contrast  with  the 
stately  temples  of  heathenism,  which  towered  above  the  Capi- 


PAGAN  MYTHOLO 


toline  Hill  m  all  the  splendor  which  art  coi 
them.  But  the  new  city  was  free  from  all  these  associations. 
It  had  no  venerable  temples  or  time-honored  customs — no  con- 
secrated spots — no  ancient  superstitions.  There  the  Christian 
churches  rose  in  a  splendor  unknown  before,  and  men  learned 
to  recognise  the  faith  as  the  religion  of  the  Empire,  while  the 
ancient  images  of  Paganism,  if  transferred  from  their  former 
seats,  lost  their  sanctity,  and  became  only  works  of  art.  There 
was  but  little  conflict  on  the  pait  of  expiring  Paganism.  Its 
end  was  mournful  and  undignified — not  gilded  by  the  gorgeous 
sunset  with  which  Gibbon  has  endeavored  to  color  its  closing 
scenes.     It  had  no  martyrs,  for  it  had  no  creed. 

Once,  indeed,  a  half-century  later,  it  rose  for  a  brief  interval, 
and  struggled  feebly  for  dominion.  Julian  the  Apostate  was 
on  the  throne  of  the  Empire,  and  lent  his  influence  to  revive 
the  ancient  and  exploded  faith.  And  yet,  though  he  endeav- 
ored to  restore  the  forms  of  this  antiquated  system,  it  was 
something  far  different  from  the  Paganism  of  ancient  Rome. 
It  was  mingled  now  with  the  tenets  of  philosophy,  and  thus  he 
attempted  to  fill  once  more  its  empty  urn,  and  to  infuse  a  new 
spirit  into  its  failing  rites.  But  it  was  too  late — the  vitahty 
and  life  were  gone.  The  chill  of  death  was  already  on  the  old 
mythology,  and  all  the  art  of  Julian  could  only  arouse  it  to 
that  brief  and  impotent  struggle  which  is  the  precursor  of  dis- 
solution. The  city  of  Eleusis  rose  again  into  splendor,  but  he 
could  not  restore  the  spirit  of  that  idolatrj^  which  there  had 
once  its  seat.     In  Constantinople  every  thing  1-eminded  the  in- 


24* 


282  PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY. 

habitants  of  its  Cliristian  founder,  and  they  had  no  sympathy, 
therefore,  with  the  change  which  was  attempted  to  be  forced 
upon  them.  And  even  when  the  Emperor  visited  Antioch, 
and  endeavored  to  revive  the  Oriental  worship  of  the  Sun,  he 
was  forced  to  hsten  to  the  maledictory  Psalm  which  the  exci- 
ted Christians  chanted,  as  they  passed  in  procession — "  Con- 
founded be  all  they  that  worship  carved  images  and  delight  in 
vain  gods."  The  contest  was,  therefore,  a  brief  one  ;  and 
when  Julian  perished  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  flinging  up  to 
heaven  his  blood,  exclaimed  in  his  parting  agony — '•'  Gahlean  ! 
thou  hast  conquered  !"* — that  was  the  knell  of  Paganism.  In 
that  hour  it  fell,  never  to  rise  again.  The  flickering  hght 
which  had  been  rekindled  among  the  dying  embers  of  its  altars, 
was  quenched  forever. 

For  a  while,  indeed,  its  spirit  lingered,  particularly  in  places 
consecrated  by  old  associations,  yet  it  never  again  appears  in 
alhance  with  the  civil  power.  It  is  curious,  too,  to  mark  its 
changing  tone — to  read  the  elaborate  oration — "  For  the  tem- 
ples"— which  Libanius  addressed  to  the  Emperor  Theodosius, 
when  the  fears  of  the  heathen  had  been  awakened  by  an  Im- 
perial command  which  directed  the  demolition  of  a  stately 

*  This  rests  on  the  testimony  of  Theodoret,  who  thus  describes  the 
death  of  Julian : — "  It  is  said  that  directly  after  he  had  received  the 
wound,  Julian  took  some  of  the  blood  in  his  hand,  and  threw  it  up  to- 
wards heaven,  saying, '  Galilean  !  thou  hast  conquered  !'  {T^svUtiKas,  TdXi- 
Xais.)  So  great  was  his  stupidity,  that  thus,  at  one  and  the  same  instant, 
he  acknowledged  his  defeat,  and  gave  utterance  to  blasphemy." — Eccles. 
Hist,  lib,  iii  ch.  25. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY.  283 

temple  at  Edessa.  Paganism  had  now  become  a  suppliant, 
and  was  pleading  in  vain  for  its  existence  with  the  power  on 
which  once  it  trampled.  Its  latest  refuge  was  naturally  in  the 
Imperial  City,  and  there  its  last  voice  was  heard,  when  Sym- 
machus  presented  his  plea  in  its  behalf  to  the  young  Valen- 
tinian.  But  through  the  veil  of  his  eloquence,  we  see  that  he 
writes  with  the  consciousness  of  one  who  knows  he  is  pleading 
a  hopeless  cause,  and  his  oration  contrasts  most  strongly  with 
the  bold  and  impassioned  tone  which  marked  the  reply  of  St. 
Ambrose.  The  Bishop  of  Milan  pours  out  his  bitter  sarcasm 
on  those  venerable  traditions  which  once  were  the  glory  of 
Rome,  and  scarcely  condescending  to  argument,  he  appeals  to 
the  passions  of  his  audience,  and  strives  to  rouse  them  by  all 
the  lofty  themes  which  their  faith  supplied.  He  seems  to  re- 
joice and  triumph  over  their  prostrate  foe,  whose  earnest  plea 
he  dismisses  with  contemptuous  scorn.  Thus  slowly  the 
pageant  of  the  ancient  religion  faded  away,  and  the  last 
feeble  remains  of  this  once  mighty  system  were  buried  be- 
neath the  ruins  of  the  Western  Empire.  The  Hues  of  a  Chris- 
tian poet  describe  the  closing  scenes  of  its  history,  when  the 
victory  of  Theodosius  had  made  him  master  of  Rome,  and  after 
solemn  debate  the  Roman  senators  passed  over  to  the  Christian 
cause  with  all  the  influence  of  their  old  hereditary  names.  If, 
therefore,  St.  Augustine's  "  City  of  God"  may  be  regarded  as 
the  solemn  requiem  of  expiring  Paganism,  we  may  characterize 
the  poems  of  Prudentius  as  the  proud  anthem  of  triumphant 
Christianity. 


284  PAGAl^  MYTHOLOGY. 

Thus  fell  the  ancient  Classical  Mythology.  It  was  conse- 
crated by  all  that  was  venerable  in  antiquity,  and  the  genius 
of  many  ages  had  lavished  upon  it  their  costliest  treasures,  yet 
its  destruction  was  entire.  It  was  a  ruin,  which  Gibbon  pro- 
nounces "  perhaps  the  only  example  of  the  total  extirpation  of 
any  ancient  and  popular  superstition."*  It  now  lives  only  on 
the  page  of  history  or  in  the  illustrations  of  the  poet,  or  it 
points  the  argument  of  the  philosopher  as  he  reasons  on  the 
changes  through  which  the  human  mind  has  passed. 

'  The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 
The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion. 
The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  Majesty, 
That  had  her  haimts  in  dale,  or  piny  moimtain, 
Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 
Or  chasms  and  wat'ry  depths  ;  all  these  have  vanished. 
They  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason  !"f 

Fourteen  centuries  have  rolled  away  since  the  power  of  Pa- 
ganism was  broken,  and  Rome  still  sits  upon  her  "  Seven 
Hills ;"  but  what  a  change  has  passed  over  her  since  she  was 
the  centre  and  home  of  that  old  mythology !  The  landscape 
is  indeed  unaltered,  for  yonder  are  the  purple  Alban  Hills, 
clothed  in  the  rich  verdure  of  which  Horace  spoke  and  to 
which  Propertius  paid  his  tribute — the  wide-spread  Campagna 
is  there  as  of  old — and  we  trace  the  Claudian  aqueduct  as  it 
goes  sweeping  on  with  its  countless  arches,  until  it  is  lost  to 
sight  among  the  distant  mountains  where  once  stood  the  stately 

*  Gibbon,  ch.  xxviil  f  Coleridge's  "  Ficcolomini." 


PAGAK  MYTHOLOGY.  285 

palaces  of  Domitian.  But  still  the  outward  aspect  of  every 
thing  proclaims  the  mighty  revolution  which  has  taken  place. 
As  we  stand  upon  the  Capitoline  Hill,  we  see  around  us  the 
mouldering  rehcs  of  a  departed  faith.  No  smoke  of  sacrifice 
ascends  from  this  height — no  altars  are  seen — the  temples 
which  once  crowned  it  are  gone,  and  their  columns  and  precious 
marbles  have  been  used  to  erect  the  Christian  churches.  Beside 
us  is  the  church  of  S.  Maria  d'Ara  Coeli,  built  on  the  founda- 
tion of  the  old  Roman  temple  of  Jupiter  Feretrius,  in  which 
the  Spolia  Opima  were  deposited  ;  and  if  it  is  the  hour  when 
the  shadows  of  evening  are  beginning  to  gather,  the  Vesper 
Hymn  of  the  monks  will  be  borne  plaintively  to  our  ears.  Be- 
low, by  the  side  of  the  deserted  Forum,  are  the  ancient  tem- 
ples of  Antoninus  and  Faustus,  of  Venus  and  Rome,  now  con- 
secrated by  Christian  names  to  the  use  of  that  faith  which  has 
supplanted  heathenism,  while  beyond,  grand  and  solemn  rise 
the  massive  ruins  of  the  Flavian  amphitheatre.  There  Ignatius 
died,  and  the  blood  of  countless  martyrs  enriched  its  sands,  as 
they  were  "  butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holyday."  But  now, 
the  once  despised  Cross  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  arena,  and 
often  the  voice  of  some  humble  monk  may  be  heard  on  that 
spot,  as  he  preaches  the  faith  of  the  Crucified,  and  his  earnest 
appeals  send  strange  echoes  through  those  galleries,  which 
once  rang  with  the  shouts  of  infuriated  thousands,  who  were 
feasting  their  eyes  on  the  torments  of  the  expiring  Christians. 
And  there  is  the  old  monastic  house  from  which  St.  Gregory 
sent  forth  St.  Augustine,  now  occupied  by  the  white-robed 


286  PAGAN  JVIYTHOLOGY. 

Camaldolese — the  church  of  St.  Clement,  where  the  Pelagian 
heresy  was  formally  condemned — and  on  the  hill,  that  solitary 
palm  rises  from  the  Garden  of  the  Passionists.  To  the  right, 
covering  the  whole  Palatine  Hill  like  the  wreck  of  some 
mighty  City,  are  seen  the  ruins  of  the  palace  of  the  Caesars ; 
and  amid  crumbling  walls  and  prostrate  columns — where  the 
trees  twine  their  roots  through  marble  floors  once  trodden  by 
the  masters  of  the  world,  and  the  tall  grass  and  rank  weeds 
wave  in  wild  luxuriance — rises  the  monastery  of  the  Capuchin 
monks,  and  prayer  and  praise  are  now  heard  where  once  Nero 
held  his  sensual  revelhngs.  We  turn  away  from  these  scenes, 
and  the  Imperial  City  is  before  us  in  all  her  solemn  and  vener- 
able magnificence.  Yet  she  has  put  ofi"  all  trace  of  her  heathen 
origin.  A  wilderness  of  towers,  and  domes,  and  columns  are 
there,  rising  in  the  deep  blue  of  an  Italian  sky — yet  each  pin- 
nacle is  gleaming  with  its  cross — each  edifice  is  devoted  to  the 
worship  of  Him,  whom  once  it  was  death  here  to  name  with 
aught  of  reverence.  And  towering  above  all — on  the  very  spot 
where  once  were  Nero's  gardens,  and  which  witnessed  the 
martyrdom  of  countless  Christians — swells  forth  that  miracle 
of  art,  St.  Peter's  dome,  surmounting  the  noblest  structure  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  yet  now  the  shrine  of  a  faith  before  whose 
resistless  march  the  ancient  Paganism  of  Rome  was  trampled 
into  the  dust. 


PAGAN  MYTHOLOaY.  28 Y 


We  have  thus  seen  the  progress  of  our  faith,  as  in  succession 
it  met  every  foe,  and  bowed  itself  to  none.  We  have  traced 
it  from  the  hour  of  its  weakness  in  Judea  until  it  triumphed 
over  the  superstitions  of  the  world,  and  amid  the  frail  memo- 
rials of  earthly  pomp  and  temporal  dominion,  founded  that 
dynasty  which  is  without  limit  and  without  end — the  substance, 
of  which  all  other  dominions  are  but  the  shadows.  And  the  nar- 
rative carries  with  it  its  own  solemn  lesson.  It  is  the  truth,  that 
this  faith  is  divine,  or  what  was  sown  in  weakness  could  never 
thus  have  been  raised  in  glory.  A  mere  peasant  of  Galilee 
could  not  have  originated  a  system,  which  thus  was  to  go  on 
from  conquering  to  conquer,  until  it  overthrew  the  profound 
Philosophy  of  Greece  and  the  deep-seated  Paganism  of  Rome. 
The  eloquent  historian  who  wrote  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  has  in  vain  endeavored  to  account  for  this  phe- 
nomenon from  natural  causes.  But  the  five  which  he  enumer- 
ates could  never  have  produced  such  a  revolution.  Not  the 
intolerant  zeal  of  the  Christians — or  the  clear  development  of 
the  doctrine  of  another  life — or  the  miraculous  powers  ascribed 
to  the  primitive  Church — or  the  pure  and  austere  morals  of 
its  members — or  even  the  union  and  discipline  of  the  new 
Christian  community* — could  alone  have  prostrated  the  pride 
of  human  reasoning,  and  won  men  from  luxurious  vices  which 
it  required  the  genius  of  Juvenal  to  delineate,  persuading  them 

*  Gibbon  cliap.  xv. 


288  PAGAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

everywhere  to  learn  the  lessons  of  self-denial  and  take  up  the 
Cross. 

We  feel  that  we  must  look  higher  for  a^olution  of  this  diffi- 
culty. We  feel  that  God  was  with  His  Church,  and  its  risen 
Head  was  aiding  it,  or  it  could  ne\er  have  survived  the  storm, 
and  come  down  to  our  day  with  its  strength  unimpaired.  We 
feel,  too,  that  the  past  is  a  pledge  for  the  future,  and  that  time, 
in  its  solemn  march,  shall  bring  before  us  as  glorious  realities, 
the  yet  brighter  things  which  the  voice  of  prophecy  has  an- 
nounced. We  will  plant  our  faith,  then,  on  this  cause  which 
has  already  stood  the  test  of  centuries.  We  will  not  be  dis- 
mayed, though  the  darkness  gathers,  and  the  hearts  of  men 
are  failing,  but  ask  the  question  :  "  Watchman  !  what  of  the 
night  ?"  well  knowing  that  the  answer  will  be  :  "  The  night  is 
far  spent,  and  the  day  is  at  hand."  And  when  that  morning 
dawns,  and  in  the  hour  of  the  Church's  glory  she  stands  upon 
the  Holy  Mountain,  and  uplifts  the  anthem  of  triumph  which 
the  redeemed  shall  sing  forever,  then  they  who  have  followed 
the  Lamb  in  the  time  of  His  conflict,  shall  share  with  Him  His 
crown  and  kingdom. 

THE  END. 


XJNIYEESITY  OF  CALIFOBNIA  LIBEABY 
BBEKELEY 

,HIS  BOOK  IS  B^"^  ™=^^^^"  "^"^ 
STAMPED  BELOW 

Book.  BO.  returned  on  ti„e  are  -^at^ncr^n. 


LIBRARY  USE 

HGV  5     i33o 


YR  7ioa,s 


SAX/. 


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